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CQES^GHT DEPOSflk 



IDYLLS OF 
THE DANE 



BY 



IRENE ELDER MORTON 




BOSTON 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
1916 



COPYBIGHT, 19 1 6, BY IrENE ElDER MoRTON 



All Rights Reserved 



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M 19 1917 

The Gorham Press, Boston, U.S.A. 



3CI,A455247 



DEDICATION 

To the Beloved Comrades of the Hearth, 

Who all have passed the last turn on the Upward Way, 

I who alone remain, dedicate 

These fragments of a wandering mind. 



^ 



.a: 



*'So in the discordis of unhapt)y tnetn 
From out their barbarous tumults, there gb 
tip to God the sighs of solitary souk 
th Him united." 

GiosuE Cakdjjccl. 



CONTENTS 

PACK 

To THE Reader 7 

Idylls of the Dane 

An Early Dream of Peace . . . . . 11 

The Princess and the Dane .... 21 

To A. M. F., A Girl Graduate .... 38 

Two Little Sunbonnets 39 

The Old Parliament to the Coming 

Women 40 

She Is Mine 42 

A Picture 43 

On the Hills 

Book i — Valoria 45 

Geneva 52 

Song 68 

Book 2 — ^At Home 70 

Song 82 

Book 3 83 

London 83 

Letter to Leq Wendal . . 84 

Sydenham 88 

Alumna Poem .99 

England Listens 104 

Song 106 



TO THE READER 

A song of Eld that came like dream of night 
Across dim ages, with their silent seas, 
Where only the old pilot stars looked down 
From the far Dane-land, where a princess moved, 
Enshrined in the white robes of maidenhood, 
Unharmed amid the stormy days of Eld ; 
For the Great Love had touched her and she died, 
Stretching her white hands to the coming Light. 

Shall we not love the Dane ? Do we forget 
The Royal Dane, who in the morning days, 
When looking for the choicest flower of life. 
Chose the brave Rose of England for her flower, 
And did so cherish it in close and field. 
That the wide Empire gloried in its bloom ? 

Can we forget that when our king beloved, 

— ^Who had so helped the world to keep God's 

Peace — 
Passed to His home behind the mystic veil. 
The Royal Dane held last his eye and hand ? 



IDYLLS OF THE DANE 



IDYLLS OF THE DANE 



AN EARLY DREAM OF PEACE 

There dwelt in days so ancient that the date 
Of them is covered by the mist of years, 
Circling in long gone centuries, three kings 
Upon three island kingdoms, where the waves 
Of the North Sea beat up against the coast 
Of Dane-land; dropping South the islands lay, 
The smallest kingdom ruled by Conamore, 
The largest by the youngest of the kings. 
Noted for strength and bravery, Valdershield ; 
The other kingdom, ruled by an old king, 
Most fierce in combat, ever deep in war, 
Who had one only child, the fair Helene. 
She, even in childhood, hated war and strife, 
And to her listening maids would often tell 
Of some glad coming time when peace should take 
The place of war upon their island home. 
The old king held her as the one white thought 
He loved, laughed at her fancies, but denied 
Her naught, and often to his lords would say: 
"Sir knights, you must do all your fighting while 
I live, for when you have a queen, I fear 
Your swords will rust." But ever when they bat- 
tled 
On the sea or land, the bravest knights were left 
To guard Helene. 

When the young princess grew 
To maidenhood, the wondrous light within 
Her starry eyes seemed to be looking at 
The world as through a veil of mist. She, with 
Her women, wandered often by the sea, 

II 



And watched its glimmering spaces rise and fall, 
Or listened when the thunder of its waves 
Was breaking loud against the beach. In times 
Of peace her galley sailed among the isles. 
The princess' galley bore a snow-white flag, 
And passed unchallenged wheresoe'er it pleased. 
Brave Valdershield gave orders to his knights ; 
"Whenever on the sea you meet the white 
Flag of Helene, lower my red one to it." 
After much pausing by the open sea, 
After much listening in the starry nights, 
The princess one day sought the king, and said: 
"I have one great request to make, O king! 
And by the memory of my mother's face, 
And by the power that holds my heart to yours. 
Promise me you will grant it, now before 
I speak." 

The king put both his hands against 
Her cheek and gave the pledge. 

She said, ''Command 
Your strongest galleys to be fitted out. 
Manned with the bravest of our men : let each 
Be captained by a trusty knight to bear 
Me southward over seas that show no land 
Against the distant water rim." 

The king 
Cried with blanched face: 

"Why did you take 
My pledge for such a wild, capricious wish 
As this?" 

The princess said, "Stories have come 
To me of a far land, where grows a seed. 
Yielding a flower and fruit whose perfume first 
Stirs thoughts of love and blessedness within 
The heart. The fruit when perfected works so 
Upon the brain, men know the best, and from 

12 



Choice follow it. There must be something better 
Meant for man's work in the world than brutal 

war. 
There comes to me from out the starry depths 
And in the many voices of the wind, 
As in the voices of the moaning sea, 
And in the presence of ail voiceless things, 
That Nature holds to heal and help mankind, 
A sense of surety that outside of all 
There lives a power, strong, merciful and good, 
And that men might, by giving up their wars, 
And evil works, which only do destroy. 
By tender care of Nature's gracious gifts. 
And helpfulness, each to the other, grow 
To something working with that Power, until 
The man's work met the God's outside, and so 
Unite, and make a circle girding all 
The isles, and all the unknown lands beyond. 
While earth grows golden with the fruits of peace." 

And so it came the Princess with her maids, 
Encircled by a fleet, sailed down the flood. 
The king had sent a galley strongly manned, 
With orders to return with word to him 
When they had found the land for which they 
sailed. 

The full-orbed moon had twice looked on the isles, 
When the king hailed his messengers again. 
Bringing good tidings of the loved Helene 
And voyage fair to all the ships and men. 
All were safe landed on the wished for shore. 
And named the time when they should steer for 

home. 
When the long-looked-for time at length came 

round, 
And the far sea line showed the princess' fleet, 

13 



Like specks upon the sky rim to their eyes, 

The old king ordered fires along the coast, 

And gave command for general holiday. 

But a wild storm came down upon the flood, 

And the vast spaces of the Northern Sea 

Broke up in fury. Strong, fierce winds gave open 

Combat to the towering waves, that thundered 

down 
Their foaming columns on the shuddering shore. 
The old king cried in passionate despair: — 
"My kingdom to the man who saves my child!" 
But the fierce waves threw up far on the land 
The boats in fragments that essayed to pass. 
The wild storm spent its fury in one night, 
And when the morning dawned, the long, slow line 
Of lessening waves brought up some broken oars, 
And fragments of the desolated ships. 

The king and all his knights stood dumb, and 

watched 
One solemn, slowly moving, towering wave, 
That traveled far up on the coast and broke: 
But when the surge drew back, it left upon 
The shore the princess, holding in her dead. 
White hands a casket, sealed and bound about 
Her waist with treble cord. The fringing eye-lids 

veiled 
Her wondrous eyes, and her sweet face spoke not 
Of storm or wreck, but in mute loveliness 
Lay like a stranded flower of peace. 

The old 
King knelt beside her on the sand, and all 
His knights stood round him with uncovered heads, 
And such a wail of sorrow went along 
The shore, the shuddering waves sank slowly back 
To calm, chanting a dirge of sad regret. 

14 



Then the knights bore her to the Palace Hall. 
The weeping maidens dried the gold brown hair, 
And dressed for the last time the lovely form 
In queenly draperies, wrought with gems and gold: 
And all the people of the realm wept. 

Then sent the old king forth two embassies, 

Calling the other kings to come to him; 

For his great sorrow wrought forgetfulness 

Of wars and strife. Then came King Conamore, 

And the strong Valdershield, followed by many 

Galleys filled with knights, and when they took 

their 
Places in the Palace Hall, and stood around 
The dead form of the beautiful Helene, 
The old king took the casket still close-sealed, 
And opened it in presence of them all. 

They found the casket filled with a fine seed 

That seemed a golden sand, and in it lay 

A letter to the king. For a brief space 

He struggled to command his thoughts within, 

Then read aloud the last words of Helene : 

"As we are leaving this fair land I seem 

To feel, although our galley prows are turned 

Toward home, and the far sea line shows no hint 

Of storm, that I may never look upon 

Your face again, O father, kind and true, 

And so I write. 

The purposes for which 
I crossed the seas are all fulfilled, and I 
Bear home a casket of the golden seed. 
Of love and peace. If our ships suffer wreck, 
The kindly seas may bear the casket sealed 
And cast it on your shores ; then, for the sake 
Of her whom you have kept within the strong, 

15 



Love tower of your heart, while all without 

Was red with carnage, listen to my words. 

Invite King Conamore and Valdershield, 

By messengers who carry my white flag, 

To come to our domain, and then divide 

The golden seed among the kingdoms three. 

Ask each in memory of the dead Helene 

To scatter it upon its mother earth, 

And learn the story that its flower and fruit 

Will tell. Our men are bending to the oar; 

And from the curved beach comes borne to me 

The heavy murmur of receding waves 

That seem to bear forever far away 

All the rough tumult and wild jar of life. 

And if the curtain rises, and I go 

Beyond all shadow to the central Light, 

Tell all our people whom I have so loved 

To guard in memory of the lost Helene 

Each atom of the golden seed, until 

Our land shall bloom with the white flower of 

peace. 
When to all sights without I close my eyes 
And listen, while the voice from lands unknown 
Speaks to responsive thoughts that burn within, 
I seem to feel a wonderful, sweet peace, 
Lifting me like a strong, incoming tide. 
To rest, unbroken, infinite. 

If one 
Whom I could name might stand beside my couch 
Without his sword, and in his strong hands take 
My own until I crossed the bridge of death. 
And the white silence fell upon my face, 
And I could hear him swear that he would not 
Unsheathe his sword again, it were most sweet 
To die." 

Then sank King Valdershield upon 

i6 



His knees and moaned ; 

"I might have wed her, but 
For these cursed wars. None knew but she and I 
I offered her my love, my realm, and fealty 
To her father's cause; that I with all my knights 
Would join with him, and take his country from 
King Conamore, and make one mighty kingdom 
Of the three. I swore by my true sword that 
For her love I would do this, and lay aside 
My crown, and take the place of chiefest knight, 
While the old king should live; then after he 
Should pass from us, that I would place a crown 
Of the three kingdoms on her head, while I 
Would be her loyal prince and servitor ; 
But she would not; although the rose-flush dyed 
Her soft white cheek, just as the sunset glory 
Tints our skies of pearl, while my hot words fell 
On ear and heart. She lifted up her face. 
Sweet as the memory of my mother's songs, 
And said: 

*Love that endures is sweet, O king; 
I do not doubt your faith, but no hand may 
Ever mine enfold red with the blood of men ; 
Voices are calling me across the seas 
Toward a happy shore where grows the fruit 
Of peace. If I can gather on that distant 
Shore even a handful of the precious seed. 
And bring it back and scatter it about 
Our kingdoms three, they tell me that its rare 
Perfume softens men's hearts, and fills them with 
Kind thoughts for others than themselves; that 

when 
The white flower ripens to a golden grain, 
It makes a food for man that shows him all 
The best and highest things of life, and makes 
Him hate a life of war and greed. For I 

17 



Feel sure that man by conquest of the brute 
Within might grow to something grander than 
The fabled gods, whose power often seems 
To be the weapons of capricious wrath.* 

"So she went from us and came back like this. 

But pardon me, my kings and lords, if I, 

The youngest of the kings, should seem to lead. 

As I stand here and look on this rare face — 

The like of which we look not on again — 

And touch this woman's hand" — He took her hand 

And held it while he spoke — "There comes to me 

The over-mastering thought of all that I 

Have lost — the treasures locked forever in 

This woman's heart; there comes with power, not 

Till now made clear, the meaning of her words 

Before she sailed away. Now I swear that 

I will lay down my sheathed sword at her feet 

And bury it with her; that I will take 

My portion of the seed and scatter it 

Where it can grow, and henceforth cultivate 

The arts of peace. O kings, my brothers, over 

This dead form I offer each my hand, and hold 

My word as sacred as this gold brown hair. 

That I will never turn to you in strife 

Again." 

Then said the king, her father, with 
King Conamore: "Thou hast spoken well"; and 

each 
Laid down his sword beside the sheathed one 
Of Valdershield, and they were buried with 

Helene. 
When the sad rites were ended, and the last 
Low dirge of music had been borne away 
Over the waves of the regretful sea. 
The king, her father, called on all his knights 

i8 



To stack their arms upon the princess' grave. 
King Conamore, and he who loved Helene, 
Gave the same order; and the clash of arms 
That echoed over land and sea rang out 
The requiem of War above her grave. 
They stood a burnished monument of steel, 
Their evil w^ork forever done, untouched 
Forever more by human hands. 

The old king gave to each the other kings, 
When after many days they left his realm, 
A portion of the precious golden seed. 
That grew a wondrous white flower, small as 
The daisy, with a stem of gold; and when 
The summer winds blew o'er the fields of white 
And gold, subtle, undreamed of fragrance filled 
The air, and seemed to enter through the senses 
To the heart, and blossom there in thoughts of love. 
Then when the bloom had faded into grain 
And all the people in each kingdom ate 
The food, there sprang from kings and knights 

such deeds 
Of kindliness and care for all the realm. 
That none could render back aught but the love 
And service of their lives. 

Should any say, "This is an idle dream. 
Of which no history can prove a trace," 
I answer, "Who can tell us half the history 
Of half the world ?" We mine and study till 
Our minds grow burdened with the weight of 

thought ; 
We scarcely can endure the ignorance 
Of the unlearned — and yet races of men 
Have lived their day and died, thrones have been 

set, 

19 



And kingdoms glistened underneath the stars, 
Of which we know not anything. We come 
Upon a mound that means a people. Here 
Or there, in digging for some grand first work, 
Our spades find traces of the same thing done 

before 
— Perhaps far better than our plans map out. 
Ages before the white Christ came 
To save the world, the shadow oi Him was 
Forecast upon some reverent, out-reaching souls 
Who, groping blindly in the outer dark, 
Fell with their burdens on God's altar stairs. 
Built, who shall say where? Within what shadows? 
Or toward what verge? This one thing we know, 
That all who strive by sacrifice of self 
To bring some good thing to humanity; 
That all who war with evil in the world. 
Or fight the lions in the human breast — 
Whether in lands long crumbled by the sea, 
Whether in ages buried in the dusk; 
Walk in the shadow of that great event 
That thrilled the universe, and so forecast 
Its wondrous light upon the world's wide dark. 
And will let fall its mellowing rays down all 
The yet untrodden aisles of coming time. 



20 



THE PRINCESS AND THE DANE 

The Princess Edith stood in her high tower 
And watched with a white face the battle rage. 
Silent all day had stood her white webbed loom, 
Untouched the strings of her wild Northern harp. 
The women wept and wailed around her feet, 
But she had stood since dawn had brought the cry: 
"King Athelvar is landing on our coast 
With all his followers, armed to the teeth." 
Without the castle and within its walls, 
The sharp, quick call, "To arms!" had been obeyed. 
Rattle of shields and clang of many swords 
Had mingled with the outcry of the maids; 
But all the words the Princess Edith spoke, 
As she ascended to her tower, had been, 
"Alas, my father, it has come at last." 

A fierce old warrior had her father been. 

Taking by foul means when the fair had failed. 

King of a Viking horde who dwelt upon 

The stormy highlands of the Northern seas — 

A stormy fragment of the human race, 

Who had grown strong by hardship, and had 

breathed 
The keen, invigorating Northern air, 
Till bone and muscle answered to the blood 
That sent its mighty pulses through the heart: 
Untaught, save in its wild desire to dare. 
And so they blindly reached out eager hands 
After what seemed to them the highest good. 

The Princess' father had a year before 
Made war offensive on a distant tribe. 
The leader of the tribe, a gray old man, 
With one son only, and no other child, 

21 



Was taken by surprise, but bravely met 
The lawless Viking and his armed host. 
His son, Prince Athelvar, with many men, 
Was absent on a voyage over seas. 
He was a lover of the sea, and longed 
To find out other places in the world. 
So he built galleys, strong and many oared. 
But with a central mast and ready sail. 
To bear them onward when the winds blew fair. 
His father was a fierce old Dane who knew 
No higher joy than conquest over foes; 
But when full manhood dawned upon the prince, 
He asked his father to make no more wars 
Until he should explore far shores unknown. 
"Beyond the sea there must be other lands. 
Perhaps with less of storm and war than this. 
I have heard rumors of an island large. 
And veined with peaceful rivers, lying South, 
Round which the waters of the world join unseen 
hands." 

Prince Athelvar had voyaged for a year. 
Explored the coast of Britain, and in wake 
Of Caesar's followers had gone on to Rome; 
And when at last he turned his galley's prow 
Across the widening seas to find his home. 
His mind was filled with larger meanings, caught 
From the new life in Britain and in Rome. 
The voyage seemed but short, so full were heart 
And brain of plans for work among his tribe. 
"What man has done," he said within himself, 
"Man yet may do," and so he bravely planned 
To lead his people to a higher life. 
No tidings of the war had reached his ears. 
Nor any rumor that the king was dead ; 
And when they neared the old familiar coast, 

22 



His heart filled with deep longings to behold 
Again the grey-haired sire, and to recount 
To him the wonders of the wider world, — 
He strained his eyes to see among the crowd 
Who gathered on the shore to welcome him, 
His father's form, which held for him alone 
The blood of kindred on the stormy earth. 
But when the chieftains met him with a look 
Of sorrow mingled with their joy, and hailed 
Him "King," his face blanched, and he scarce could 

find 
A voice, but soon he cried, 

"Not king, hay, greet 
Me not as king. Where is the king, my father? 
Let us go to him ; lead, and I follow. 
But speak not on the way. It is but meet 
The son should greet the father first of all. 
I miss so many faces, but no doubt 
They wait my coming with the king." 

One said, 
"They are with the king"; 

"It is well; pass on." 
And so the crowd moved slowly toward the hall. 
An ominous silence brooding over all. 
The hall was reached, the chief swung wide the 

door. 
And said, "Enter the king." 

A feast was spread; 
The burnished armour glistened on the wall ; 
The floor was spread with many skins of beasts; 
Upon the broad stone hearth a bright fire blazed, 
And in its place, covered with leopard skin. 
The old man's seat stood vacant by the fire. 

The prince sank down upon the vacant chair, 
While the chief told the story of the loss. 

23 



"All things are ready; we but wait the son 
To lead us to avenge the death of him 
Who fell facing the foe," added the chief, 
Who closed the story of the unsought strife. 
So Athelvar, who had dreamed of better things, 
Set out again to lead his tribe to war. 

The Princess Edith, from her window tower, 
Had seen her father's colors three times fall; 
She waited long with wildly beating heart. 
But neither hand nor breeze lifted their folds; 
Before the battle closed the tidings came, 
That all for them was certain rout and loss. 
Oland, one of her father's chiefs whom she 
Had in her heart a woman's cause to dread. 
After the king fell, left the field and sought 
An audience with the Princess in the hall; 
With hurried step and throbbing heart she came ; 
He would have seized her hand, but she drew back 
And asked, 

"What of my father? Is the battle lost?" 
"The king is slain, but with his dying breath 
He charged me to come quick to you and urge 
Immediate flight with me by boat, for this 
Tall Dane, prince Athelvar, is ever5rwhere. 
And fights liks all the gods in one. Be sure 
That he will show no mercy, for this is 
A warfare of revenge; and I beseech 
You, Princess, for your own sake fly with me." 
A fine scorn gleamed athwart the beauty that 
She turned full on the traitor, as she said 
"I doubt my father gave such dying counsel 
For his child, and I, though but a girl. 
Will choose to die beside my people if 
My single hope of life depends on flight. 
If you would serve me, take this flag of truce, 

24 



I 



Go to prince Athelvar, and say, 'The dead 
King's daughter asks an audience in the hall.* 
Go quick, before all remnant of my people 
Fall by the avenging sword." 

Oland went 
Slowly out and gave the message to the prince. 
"My Viking foe, had he no sons?" asked Athelvar, 
When Oland gave the message that he bore. 
"Go tell the princess that within an hour 
I will attend her in the hall." 

Then prompt 
He gave the signal that declared the strife 
Was closed, and ordered that the dead king should 
Be given burial first. 

"A miserable 
Thing is war, — here I have killed the father 
Of a girl who has no brother," he spake 
To himself, as he came from the river, 
Where he plunged and swam many times 'round 

his 
Galleys to erase all stains of battle 
E'er he clad himself in royal garments 
Fitting for a king. 

The Viking chief had stolen in his youth 

The fair-haired mother of his child from out 

A Danish galley which he chanced to meet 

While cruising carelessly about the coasts. 

Her nurse was with her, so he brought her too, 

Hoping to make the fair Dane more content. 

But the nurse, good Ilda, though she had served 

Most faithfully her mistress all her life, 

Had never loved the Viking or his ways. 

When death's chill touched the mother, she had 

placed 
The small hands of her baby on good Ilda's 

25 



Cheek, and took her promise that she never 
Would desert her child, but cherish her, and watch 
For chance, provided by the gods, to take 
Her daughter back to be a Dane. 

The Viking let her have her way about 
The child. They lived within the rooms built at 
The top of the high tower, only approached 
By a long winding stair above the noise 
And din of the wild horde. 

There stood the loom 
Where Ilda taught the princess how to weave 
The wonderful white texture which she said 
Would some day make a royal garment for 
A coming prince. 

Ilda had taught her all 
Her Danish songs, and told her all the sweet 
Old stories of the land she loved. How fair 
Helene had given up her life to bring 
Unto the islands that she loved the flower 
Of peace; how Valdershield the brave had never 
Wed a wife, but cherished thoughts of her. 
Until the gods had called him home. 

The fire blazed high within the Viking's hall, 
When Edith entered it to meet the king, 
Who, with an easy grace of mien and voice, 
Advanced and said, 

"Regard me not, I pray, 
As one who would molest your liberty 
Or life ; my latest triumph fills me with 
Deep shame. If you sought vengeance I should feel 
It just." 

The princess stood before him with 
The beauty of the woman reaching through 
The sweet, pearl, child-look on her earnest face. 

26 



Her words came clear and low as she replied : 

"I have no brother; I cannot avenge 

My father's death, nor would I if I could. 

Why kill so many more? The blood of half 

The tribes would not bring back the life of one. 

There is to me some thing most dreadful in 

A still, dead face, from which all thought of hope 

Or love^ or power, has forever fled. 

My nurse, who is a Dane, has told me tales 

About the tribes who dwell far down the flood. 

Which our wild mountain torrents rush to greet; 

I think the gods have shown them more than us. 

Who dwell perhaps too far from sun-rise for 

The gods to care. I know what conquest means. 

Only myself now stands between my people 

And this fighting world; my father mourned much 

That I was a girl." 

The king bowed low and said : 
"Princess, I think the gods did well to make 
You what you are. 

It will be joy to me 
In any way to serve you and repair 
The evils I have done. I did not know 
Your father had no sons, or, by the royal 
Gods, I would have waited long e'er I had 
Manned a galley, or unsheathed a sword." 
In a low voice Edith replied, 

"My father did 
You very grievous wrong; when he came back 
From that aggressive war and told how they 
Had slain an old man while his son was far 
Away, my heart rose in a tempest of 
Regret, and many nights I lay awake, 
Thinking of his return. I pictured first 
His sorrow, and I knew the laws of warfare 
Would demand revenge." 

27 



"Could I have dreamed, 

princess," said the king, in tones subdued, 
"That any thought of me, or of my sorrow 

Had gone out from such a temple of fair woman- 
hood, 

1 should have rather sunken all my fleet 
Than come to make disastrous war. If there 
Are any of your father's chiefs whom you 
Can trust to lead and reconstruct, it will 
Be well; if not, I will myself see that 
Your wishes are fulfilled, and will remain 
Until you have no further need of me." 
"There is not one," Edith replied, "whom I 
Could name as leader of the tribe. Oland, 
Who took my message to the king, would fain 
Become the chief, but him I have great cause 
To dread. He has no hold upon the tribe. 
Nor any claim, save empty love of rule." 

So Athelvar took command within the hall. 
Winning the remnant of the tribe by gracious ways, 
While Edith and her women dwelt within 
The tower, until all signs of battle 
Had quite disappeared, the wounded cared for, 
And the wives and children of the fallen 
Warriors found by order of the princess 
Shelter in the hall. 

Oland had made one 
Wild attempt to overthrow the princess* 
Rule and hold the tribe, but had been taken 
Prisoner by the king. The people clamored 
For his life, but Edith said, 

"Shed no more blood 
But banish him forever over seas." 
He took his sentence from the king. 
Glad of his life, but muttering vengeance 

28 



Deep on her who spared his life, but shrank in 
Loathing from his love. 

The people soon grew wond'rously content 

Under the gracious rule of Athelvar. 

After a time the princess and her maids, 

With Ilda, came at evening to the hall, 

Where the huge fire sent forth its ruddy gleams 

Upon the happy faces gathered there, 

Where were spread 'round soft skins of many beasts 

Upon great couches, and upon the floor. 

Sometimes a feast was spread before the king 

And Edith, by the happy maids, who did 

Not mourn, because the rule of the hard old 

Fighting king was o'er. 

One day the king had 
Heard the princess' harp, and begged to have it 
Brought within the hall, where often Edith touched 
Its vibrant chords, while her sweet voice rose clear 
And echoed long within the heart of Athelvar 
The king. 

But often Edith asked that he 
Would tell tales of his wanderings over distant 

seas, 
And of the sights in Britain and In Rome. 
"I have so often longed," she said, "to see 
The edges of the world, where the great seas 
Swirl 'round and underneath the stars. I have 
Wondered much if their light can be quenched, 

or if 
They float and sparkle on the outer seas 
To light the way for galleys of the gods. 
Did you learn aught in any other lands 
From any of the people of the gods? 
And why it is they pour upon the world 
So much of hate and war ? If they would but 

29 



Give us love instead ! How good it were to 
Rest on a strong love outside of all !" 

Then Athelvar came near to her and said, 

"In that great Island, Britain, there are men 

Who are priests only; never do aught else 

But minister the rites of service to 

Their God. I listened and learned this, they have 

But one, not many gods like us, and worship 

As supreme the very God of gods, who 

Alone hath power to measure good and evil 

To the world. I thought much of that. I too 

Have longed to know more of the meaning of 

All life; why men should live fighting each other 

On this stormy earth, why the great waters 

Rise and fall; and what the voice of their deep 

Undertone, resounding like the smothered 

Whispers from the shores where dwell the happy 

gods. 
And why the stars shine as they do, some large, 
Some less; they do not shine by chance; you note 
That certain brilliant ones come at set times, 
And keep thefr places in the great blue arch ; 
Most likely they are leaders of the lesser stars, 
And all move peacefully, shedding their light 
Alike upon the living and the dead. 
They are alive, those stars, I feel quite sure, 
And move by order of some power unknown. 
When our seven galleys found their way to Rome, 
It was not for war or pillage, but I thought 
Surely the secrets of all knowledge will 
Be open here. I wore the Roman dress. 
And mingled freely with the moving crowd. 
No tongue can tell the wonders of that world ; 
I felt like one drifted from some bleak shore, 
To which the light of only lesser stars 

30 



Had come. And yet I did not find what most 

I longed to know ; that was, to understand 

The meaning of myself and other men, 

Why life should break like waves upon the shore, 

Eddy and swirl and disappear beneath 

Forgotten sands. Often at night when our 

Ships floated on the spreading seas, 

I longed to know more of the power that spoke in 

star 
And wave, but I found none in Rome who cared 
For this. 

I saw one die at Rome. Around him 
There were scores of men and women on 
Raised seats, each one above the other. He 
Stood on a place where all could see. Then were 
Let loose upon him fierce wild beasts. The 

Roman 
Is more brutal than the Dane. We kill in 
War; but they make sport of death. It seems 

enough 
When the shield rattles and the armour rings, 
To take away what no man can restore; 
But to make holiday, and watch while one 
Man falls before brute force is what the Dane 
Or Norseman cannot do. 

This man whom I 
Saw die had been a follower of One 
Called Christ. I never can forget the face 
Of him : the pallor of it was extreme ; 
But such a look I never saw on dying 
Face before. No fear, but radiant with a light 
Unspeakable. He stretched forth both his hands 
And prayed to One invisible, and cried, 
*My Father, I am ready; take me to 
Thyself, and shew this people that Thou art 
The very God.' 

31 



He made no struggle with 
The beasts, but let them tear, until in one 
Long, joyful cry, his voice died out. That was 
The wonderfulest thing I saw at Rome. 
I asked about this Christ. He had been put 
To cruel death, hated alike by Roman 
And by Jew; yet even Pilate said when he 
Condemned Him, that there was 'no fault in Him.' 
His life had been spent only in good deeds. 
He taught a clean, pure life of helpfulness 
By man to man, and claimed to be the Son 
Of the One God, come to redeem the people 
Of the earth. I had the name 'Christ* made on 
White wax at Rome, and brought it for my father. 
I would I could learn more of Him. He said 
That death was not the end, that those who loved 
And followed Him should have a life with Him 
Unending in a better world than this. 
How good were that, another, better life. 
That we may seek and hope for in this world ; 
The outside of our life is not the best. 
I would have given all the Csesar's rule 
To have found my father waiting by his fire. 
The Romans have a brave outside, but wrong, 
Murder, and pillage fester in their courts. 
They serve themselves, those Romans. Some day 

Rome 
Will fall. 

If such a thing could be that this 
Christ taught, that the One God did love the world 
Enough to come and live His life among 
The poor, shewing at once the brotherhood 
Of the Divine and human, and at death 
Take those who listened to His teachings to 
An everlasting life of highest good, 
Why, we could go on joyfully in hope; 

32 



For Thor and Odin live so far away ; 

This is the first God who hath touched the world." 

The princess with a rapt and earnest face 
Sat silent while he spoke, and then replied, 
"That were indeed a God, supreme in love. 
And for that Christ a man might dare to die." 
Then Athelvar claimed a song upon the harp ; 
Then sang the maiden to responsive chords: 

SONG OF THE PRINCESS 

"The joy in the heart of the rose, 
The song in the heart of the rain, 
The glory of gladness that flows 
0*er the billows of tall, ripened grain; 

"The strength in the heart of the hills. 
The imprisoned lament of the sea, 
The low, happy laugh of the rills. 
All answer to something in me. 

"The eyes of the gods in the stars, 
The thoughts of my heart understand ; 
Our wild streams that sweep to the sea 
Bear to it the heart of the land. 

"If a God who is kinder than Thor 
And stronger than Odin doth reign, 
Then love must encircle the world. 
And banish all memories of pain." 

When Ilda and the princess were alone 
That night within the chamber of the tower. 
The face of Edith was aglow with thought; 
Her dark eyes gleamed like Venus when she shines 
At sunset through the softened vesper air. 

33 



She said : "Ilda, you have not told me half 

The truth about the Danes ; this king is grander 

Than my dreams of any of the gods." But 

While she spoke the nurse cried, "Hark, surely 

I closed the door below the tower stair?" 

She dropped the comb from out her up-raised hand, 

Leaving the gold floss of her lady's hair 

To fall around her like a bridal veil. 

Wrapped in a dream of sweet delight, the princess 

Did not note the sudden pallor on her 

Nurse's face, only half noted that she 

Left the room, closing the door that fastened 

With a spring upon the inner side. 



The king had lingered by the dying fire, 

His heart too full of gracious thoughts for speech. 

The revelation of that sweet, rare face. 

And wonderful white hand that seemed 

To hold all womanhood within its clasp. 

Thrilled through him as no thoughts had thrilled 

before. 
"I seem to understand at last," he said, 
"The true uplifting of all life. Oh, my 
Heart's rose, how did you bloom so graciously 
In this rough clime?" 

But suddenly the door 
Flew open, and the nurse cried out, 

"Come quick, 
O King, Oland is on the tower stair." 
He waited not for any weapon, but 
Rushed on to find the ruffian had reached 
Almost the top. The door was open — Edith 
Stood without; all trace of color had gone 
From her face. At sound of hurrying feet 
Oland turned round upon the stair to meet 
The king, and cried : 

34 



"Now If you love your life, 
You pirate prince, come not another step. 
I swear if you come nearer that my sword 
Shall drain your blood, and then within my lady's 
Room she will be glad to be my wife to-night." 
The princess stretched her hand toward the king, 
And said : 

"Come not within the compass of 
A coward's stab, brave prince. Fear not for me. 
My tower window opens to the floor. 
Rather than this brute should lay one hand on me 
I cast myself down to the depths below. 
Death were a small dread in the place of him." 
The king said, with a set, stern face, 

"Go in 
And shut your door, but open not your window 
Till I call." 

Edith obeyed, and as she 
Closed the door Oland called to the king, 
"Now ask your last gift of the gods before 
My sword shall pierce your heart, but e'er you die 
Know this, the girl within should long ago 
Have been my wife." 

With his eyes blazing like 
The light of Mars, King Athelvar leaped 
The stairs between and cried, 

"Die, dog of a liar 
That you are!" and hurled him down the long stone 
Tower stair. 

Ilda had given quick alarm 
Without. A crowd of soldiers hurried to 
The stair just as the Viking's body tumbled 
At their feet. The king called to his men, "Take 
Him at once, and give him a dog's burial. 
Tramp firm the earth upon him, and then come 
To me." 

35 



Ilda sped quickly to unclose A\ 

The door, which shewed them Edith with one hand ^' 

Upon the unloosed fastenings of the window 
Door, her face as pallid as a marble urn ; 
But when she saw King Athelvar stand without. 
She stretched out both her hands to him, and with 
A great cry sank upon the floor. When her 
Eyes opened and she saw the king's face bent 
Above her, her first words were: "Truly your 
God is good" : and then, "Take me forever 
From this room!" 

He bore her in his arms down 
The long stair, and laid her on a couch by 
The hall fire. Her frightened maidens gathered 

round 
And wept, and shuddered when a sound was heard 
Outside. King Athelvar did not sleep that night, 
But caused a watch of soldiers to be kept, 
Until the morning light brought peace to all. 

The Princess Edith never looked again 
Upon the tower stair where Oland died. 
The entrance to it was closed up with stone, 
And the door covered till it seemed a wall. 
A gentler life now filled the rooms below, 
And one strong presence wakened up for her 
Undreamed of harmonies, mystical and sweet. 

Ilda had cut the white web from the loom, 
And set the maids to broidering with gold, 
Over rare patterns that the princess drew; 
And so they made a garment fitting for 
A king to wear upon his wedding day. 
The day was fair when Athelvar the Dane 
Wed Edith, daughter of his fallen foe. 
The tribes so long at war were under him 

36 



United first in one harmonious band. 

The princess to her people said, "Let all 

Who love me follow him with loyalty; 

So shall he lead us on to higher good ; 

And when the winter shall have come and gone, 

And happy spring shall have unloosed again 

The kindly forces of the earth, we will 

All bid adieu to this wild land of storms. 

And seek a home where the soft south wind blows 

Among the tall trees crowning hills above 

The peaceful waters of a wondrous Bay 

Upon the coast of Britain, which the Danes 

Have long ago explored, and where the king 

Shall lead us when the days grow long again ,* 

For, O my people, who can tell if we 

Are each one faithiFul to the very best 

That lies within us, and that we can learn 

About this One true God who loves the world. 

But that, in some blessed future time, 

Norman and Dane may mingle with the Briton, 

And become a mighty nation serving the One God." 



37 



TO A. M. F. 

A GIRL GRADUATE 

O Girlhood with its crown of faith, we give 
Thee our best thoughts to-day, this grand June day, 
This new day, never used before; but when 
In coming years its memory unfolds 
May it be fragrant with the thoughts that now 
Bear summer incense for thy June of life. 
To-day thy feet have touched a turning step 
Upon the golden stair. 

To-day you leave 
The shades where Virgil sang his stories of 
The tossing seas, and where the tall 
Closed doors of the wide past have opened to 
Thy call, and where thou hast heard across dead 

ages 
Unforgotten songs. 

For thee may life be sweet; 
We know it will be true, and may the head 
Of the coiled serpent that so loves to spoil. 
Be newly wounded should he near thy path. 



38 



TWO LITTLE SUNBONNETS 

Two little sunbonnets, side by side, 

Hang on the wall at eventide; 

While two little faces, rosy and fair, 

Shaded by blonde and bonnie brown hair 

Have slipped from beneath them while angels keep 

Watch over slumbers restful and sweet. 

Oh ! baby faces, so fresh and fair. 

With the pearl on the skin and the gold in the hair, 

And eyes as clear as angels' are 

As they pierce the blue for a missing star, 

And baby hearts with love untold. 

And soft white arms that our hearts enfold. 

How fair is life while the years are new. 

When home is the world and the world is true. 



39 



THE OLD PARLIAMENT TO THE COM- 
ING WOMEN 



In ancient times we tied our queues 
And took our seats in parliament, 

And fought as brave for honor bright 
As knights of old in tournament. 

II 

Our country's wrongs, the people's weal, 
Were then the reasons why we met 

And drew our diamond-hilted steel. 
But times have changed, we do forget. 

Ill 

And shrink and shrivel like false men 
In glarish light of salaries, . 

But ladies, ladies, come not down ; 
Oh, keep you to the galleries! 

IV 

Don't soil your trailing robes with dust ; 

Let us fight on for salarles^; 
We pray you charming ladles bright, 

Oh! keep you to the galleries. 



Sometimes In heat of party strife 
We look up to the galleries. 

And in the light of truth and love 
Almost forget our salaries. 
40 



VI 



And strike out for a helpless truth 

That stands unclothed and shelterless, 

And careless of opposing lines 

We stretch our hands to help and bless. 



VII 



And when the battle waged and won 
A white hand from the galleries 

Had touched our own and made us know 
A dearer thing than salaries. 



VIII 



Oh, ladies, ladies, keep your heights 

Above all hope of salaries 
And leave us something dear and sweet 

Above us in life's galleries. 



41 



SHE IS MINE 

Let the wild wind beat the rain 
Up against my window pane. 
She is mine! 

Night and storm have lost their power 
To disturb this charmed hour. 
She is mine. 

Life has blossomed into joy, 

Holding nothing for alloy. 

She is mine! 

And I charge you Demon Death 
Touch her not with your cold breath. 
She is mine ! 

Turn the lamp; the firelight falls 
Softly on the pictured walls. 
She is mine ! 



42 



A PICTURE 

Her form held the grace of a linden tree; 
Her face was as fair as a woman's may be. 

The frosted lace from her bared white arm 
Fell back to the shoulder. Oh! the charm 

Of the w^arm-hued flesh tints; the woman's hands 
Grasped each the other — while unseen bands 

Seemed to mock at the pressure brought to bear 
On the forehead crowned with its plaits of hair. 

The bride of a month! What does she there, 
Entering the lists with Black Despair? 

"If one could but try and then go back," 
Are the words she said ; then keeps her track 

Up and down the long bright room, 

While the sunlight faints in the face of gloom. 

So young ! Yet the long black hill of life 
Held more of dread than a hungry knife. 

Will she bind her strong soul to endure, 
And make no sign? Of this be sure 

That the hungry who call and the hurt who cry 
"Behold my pain!" to the passer-by. 

Have never sounded the depths that are known 
To the voiceless woman who stands alone. 



43 



ON THE HILLS 



DEDICATION 

To the beloved Comrades of the Hearth 
Who all have passed the last turn 

In the Upward Way, 
I, who alone remain, dedicate 
These fragments of a wandering mind. 



PREFACE 

A song of youth from one who, loving songs, 
Listened to music till at length she tried 
An octave for herself. 

I. E. M. 



I 



BOOK FIRST 

VALORIA 

In a neat village where white-fingered spires 

Begged Heaven's blessing on their quiet fanes, 

Valeria's young hand touched the first note 

In the great song of life. It was where the Wye, 

Trailing its silver thread, winds through the heart 

Of Wales, like a shy maiden going where 

It would and charming men to follow its 

Sweet ways, that they might gaze upon its face 

As its bright eyes were dreaming in the shade. 

Or note its ruffled breast agleam with gold 

Dropped by the unsought largess of the sun; 

Or listen when the time of shadows fell 

To the low chaunt of rhymes, thrown from its 

deep 
Heart to the ears of men, till drawing near 
It hears great Severn's voice, the voice that first 
Called to it in the distant happy hills, 
Called in weird harmony of winds that caught 
The great unwritten music of the sea; 
And as they met with voiceless marriage vow. 
It buries all its treasures in his heart. 
A little way withdrawn from the white dot 
Of cottages, a sudden hill reared high 
Its wooded form above a quaint old house, 
Whose gables rose amid a wilderness 
Of clinging vine, and cast their quivering 
Image in the Wye; and here amid the light 
On flower and wave, Valeria's young eyes 
Could only catch reflection of the sun 
And flowers. 

Her father was a scholar who 
Had spent his early life in distant lands, 

47 



Who with a lover's earnest eye had scanned 
All loveliness, and vi^ith a lover's heart 
Had worshipped it, as part of the eternal 
Essence that distils on all created things. 
There had come floating back to his old home 
Vague rumors, in the first years of his stay 
Abroad, telling the old, old story that 
Is ever new, how the sweet grapes of youth 
Cast in the press of life yielded such wine — 
Such rare red wine, such sparkling wine — 
Held in God's sunlight gave back diamond stars 
That threw their light within two hearts and round 
One path of youth and love. The rumor died 
And was forgotten. In the after years 
The man came back alone; but all could see 
The glow had faded from the morning hills 
For him, and that the heart's impulses burned 
As low as morning beacon fires on which 
No hand has laid a faggot since last night. 
Disliking crowds, but genial with the few 
Married in time a quiet English wife, 
And settled down to quiet English ways. 
He had seen enough of cities and would live 
In this old house in Wales, which told weird tales 
Of battles fierce where throbbing hearts, long since 
Grown quiet at the Christ's first look, had burned 
Out life to light the way of truth, where weak 
Hands struggled with a giant wrong. 

If the wave 
Of love's first passion had rolled in upon 
The harbour of his heart, fragrant, agleam 
With rosy light, and bearing on its breast 
Fair flower and fruitage of far sunny lands; 
Had broken on the beach and borne away 
Not only all it brought but all the long 
Locked treasures of 3 strong man's heart; he made 

48 



No sign by which the world might know. There are 

Some essences whose subtile rare perfume 

Forever lingers round all they have touched; 

And there lay within a corner of an old, 

Old desk a little box of ivory 

And pearl that held a girl's glove and a broken ring, 

A bit of Venice carved upon its lid; 

Its spring had been untouched since distant years. 

Companioned by her father, led by him 
In Science and in Art, Valoria 
Smoothly sailed from childhood's sheltered bay out 

on 
The rose-flushed sea of dawning womanhood, 
(Not dreaming of the wrecks that, maybe, lay 
Beneath its waves) her gleaming white sails set 
To catch the springing breeze, the dainty helm 
Held by the strong hand of her father's love. 
What sunny shores to her young eyes were stretched 
Beyond the bright intenseness of the morning haze! 
What fragrances of foreign flowers, what sweet 
Low echoings of far-off song floated 
Up to her from the underworld ! Beauty 
Had touched her with its subtile wand. 
Leaving an air of grace thrown carelessly about 
Her ways, as though she moved to music quite 
Unheard by other ears. Her mind was trained 
By study of all useful things ; she was 
Enriched with all accomplishments; thought out 
Her own thoughts for herself ; and breathing always 
An atmosphere of rare intelligence 
Within her father's house (he loved to draw 
Around him men who followed Art and Science 
For the love of it), her woman's thought had 
Learned to climb and twine round mighty truths. 

But 
She had never loved ; she had read of love, 

49 



And her heart told her what it was, yet one 
Knew by the clear unshadowed light within 
Her eyes, that never wandered or grew dim 
With far-off thought, the rosy god had troubled 
Not her maiden dreams. 

"Valoria," said 
Her father (he had given her that name, 
Though all the relatives pronounced it quite 
A needless alien in the family list) 
One night as they were resting after a day 
Spent on Welsh hills — "Valoria, you are 
So fond of heights that if I thought you would not 
Attempt the Matterhorn without a guide, 
Or try a ride upon an avalanche, 
I would take you to the Alps." 

With a quick burst 
Of pleasure she sprang up, and kneeling at 
His side declared that if he would but go 
She would deny herself the Matterhorn 
And ride on nothing wilder than a mule, 
But added quickly when she saw his eyes 
Were dim and that he did not smile as he 
Was wont at her gay badinage, "We are 
Happy here, and if it makes you sad to go 
We will stay at home, for nothing would bring joy 
To me that trailed along an ugly pain 
For you." 

"Nay, little one," he said, taking 
Her in his arms, "the life has died from out 
The pain of life for me. It crept along 
Through all the years that should have been my 

best, 
And fed upon the dainties and the bloom 
Till they were done, and then I think it starved. 
For after long, slow years it ceased to move. 
My thoughts flew backward to the time I first 

50 



Left England's shores, carrying with me strength 
And youth, and more, my daughter, more, carried 
Away what I could not bring back. There, rest 
Your head upon my breast, but do not talk," 
He added, as he drew her close within 
His arms. 

The evening draped its shadows all 
About the room, while the tired wind without 
Could only stir the ivy vines across 
The open door, and in the drooping elm 
A lonely night bird sang a lonely song. 
"What is it, father?" asked Valoria, 
Starting from half sleep. 

*'I did not speak, my 
Daughter." 

"Yes, you said 'Valoria' twice." 
"Did I ? I must have dreamed. 

But it is late, 
And time you were in bed; good night, my darling, 
Go and dream you are in Switzerland." 

There was a wide high balcony that overlooked 
The Wye, thick overhung with vine and elm. 
Where this rare girl, whose heart was all attune 
To Nature's varied moods, was wont to take 
Her last look in the summer nights upon 
A world of full-orbed silences. To-night 
She sought it with a heart aglow with joy, 
Joy, that she might behold that great grand vision 
Set in mount and cloud, where God's voice never 

dies 
Away among the hills. 

Should she indeed 
See Switzerland, the land where centered all 
Things strong and beautiful, the land whose voice 
Sounded the note of freedom with such power 

51 



The tyrant heard God's warrant in the call " 
And dropped his hold on that that was not his, 
The land where Nature sang her grandest bass 
In the strong tremor of the avalanche 
And mountain floods, that pour their booming 

thunders 
Through the echoing days? Should she kneel at 
The foot of God's great hills and worship Him 
Through His great works? And might she climb 

and bathe 
Her unclad forehead in the mist of cloud 
That hung around the Wengern Alp, and see 
The falling glaciers of Jungfrau, the cone 
Of Silberhorn, and gaze with dazzled eyes 
Up where the Matterhorn held yet the longed- 
For secrets of the ice world hid away,* 
Amid the deep white silence of its awful heights? 

GENEVA 

It is not that Mount Blanc looks down from its 

Eternal calm of ice and snow upon 

The life of flower and plash of wave and warmth 

Of human life below ; nor yet because 

The wand of beauty draws its magic ring 

In shadow of the Jura over earth 

And wave and air. It is not for this alone 

Men gather to try heart of liberty. 

Geneva! rich in beauty, richer far 

In memories of noble deeds that shall 

Not shrink and perish at the touch of death. 

Where heroes' names are household words, and 

where 
Memories of martyrs are passed down from sire 

*At the time this poem was written the Matterhorn had 
never been ascended. 

52 






To son, like family jewels guarded with 

Jealous care. Here Chillon frowns upon the waves 

Below, and while the heart aches at the thought 

Of its sad prisoner in his dungeon rounds, 

It yet rejoices that at last the prey 

Was taken from the iron hand of wrong. 

Here Voltaire hissed his venomed genius o'er 

A world he left more beggared in its faith 

In God and love than when he found it. From 

Its heart have poured great arteries whose strong 

Pulsations burst all tyranny and made 

Its people free; and to its heart have drawn 

The poet, the philosopher, worker. 

And dreamer of all lands and climes. 

Valoria was shown each spot that claimed 

Historic interest or poetic fame 

From Chillon 's dungeon towers to Rousseau's isle. 

Her father formed a friendship with 

An Englishman, who every year shook from 

His soul the blinding dust of crowds, and gave 

It holiday among the hills, that it 

Might drink the glowing cup God's hand holds out 

To us from places near his throne. Wendal 

Knew all the secrets of the hills, knew where 

They hid their silver chimes, and kept within 

The strongholds of their giant hearts a place 

For man; and with his strong arm plying his 

Swift oar they floated many a night upon 

The moonlit waters of the gleaming lake. 

Wendal and Mr. Mooer talked much of Art 

And politics, history and poetry. 

With subtile essences of things that come 

And go, touching our spirits with bewildering 

thoughts 
Of things that we should know but have forgot ; 
And often, shipping oars, would seem to reach 

53 



The farthest stretch of human thought, and sit 

Silent and reverent before the veil 

Of the unknown, that mystic veil which floats 

In some rare hours so near we almost feel 

Its noiseless folds chilling our cheek, and then 

Receding in the mist so high and far 

We may not fathom where its limit lies. 

Valoria listened, with her face aglow 

With thought; if Wendal noticed it he made 

No sign. It was plain he never would bear arms 

Or win a badge as carpet knight. He left 

Before them, promising to meet among 

The Alps where he must hasten on to join 

A party for a great ascent. 

Above 
The vale of Lauterbrunn they met again. 
And during a month's rambles on the hills 
Their feet seemed naturally to tread within 
One path. 

It was the day but one they were 
To leave; Wendal came early to their rooms, 
And said the day was glorious, and that 
The slightest sound made music in the air; 
Even though it started in a discord, touched 
By the echoes hidden in the hills, it 
Ended in a chime ; and begged leave to act 
As Miss Mooer's guide that day among the hills. 
He was familiar with the paths for miles 
Around, and pledged his reputation as 
A guide to bring her back in safety. Her 
Father gave consent but added, 

"I must tell 
You if there is any chance for doubtful climbing 
She will do it. She was born an outlaw. 
All my early scorn for bars, and longing 
For the unattainable I find in her, 

54 



Therefore be sure you keep always on guard. 
She led me a bewildering chase the day 
Before you came. I had to send a careful 
Footed guide up a steep height to bring her down." 
"And you, Miss Mooer," he added, kissing her 
Good-bye, "be sure for once you mind your master." 
"Yes," laughed Valoria with a pretty gesture 
Of mock reverence, "I will, most truly. 
When I find him." 

"It seems. Miss Mooer," said Wendal 
As they left the inn, "that you are to be 
Closely watched." 

"It is all because I do 
Not think that helplessness need always be 
A positive necessity in women, 
And here on these inspiring heights where one 
Sniffs freedom in the winds, it seems absurd 
Always to be tucked under some one's arm, 
Just like a neat brown paper parcel labeled 
'Touch with care'; the simple truth in all things 

seems 
The best. But round and underlying all 
Do you not think," she added with a glow 
Of earnestness upon her fair young face, 
"That here in God's high places where He speaks 
So plainly to us through His works, that we 
Throw down instinctively the shams that have 
Been built around our souls, and speak and act 
Just true?" 

"Yes," answered Wendal, gazing down 
On her with attentive face, "here I first 
Learned to know how grand a thing is simple truth, 
And of what simple elements our best 
Things are composed. It takes half a life to show 
Us this in spite of Nature's gentle lessons, 
And even then it is only learned by those 

55 



Whose souls can be attuned to God and Nature. 
In the first flush of wealth, men, in building homes, 
Order on varnish, heavy bands of gold. 
Deep piles of vivid color, have their table spread 
With such profuseness that the dishes crowd. 
But after years of culture man discerns 
Profuseness is bad taste, prefers the real wood 
That shows fine grain, orders his colors with 
Less lavish hand, and his table ceases to groan 
Beneath its load. So, reaching down through all 
The half-dead, senseless, outside rims of life, 
We find the soul of things is sweet and true; 
Just the sweet 'You and I' of life make up 
The jewels in the rosary of years 
Whose unforgotten glimmer throws the last 
Sweet earth light in the heart of age. A lamp 
Trimmed by a woman's hand, the opal homelight 
Curtained from the world, the mother with her 
Baby's cheek against her own, its smile within 
Her heart, all that makes perfect joy to man, 
Is sweet and true. Heart of the rose and heart 
Of life, just simple, sweet and true." 

"Hark!" said 
Valoria, pointing with her hand, "that bird 
Above seems echoing your refrain; its clear 
Notes cleave the air, like, Weet and true,' and I 
Believe that from an Alpine song-bird to 
A human soul feeling around for God 
To hold it and to make it pure, your words 
Are true. The bird sings what God gave it while 
The tired soul just touches Him 
And rests." 

"Thank God," said Wendal, "that He has 
Given us such conditions on which to build 
Our lives, and that the empty glitter of 
External show declares itself the tinsel 

56 



Sham it Is within the presence of the pure 
And true. How often we see souls so stamped 
With the clear mark of God that they simply must 
Be what they are! How little the mere critic 
Thinks of this, or knows that a great soul that comes 
To us with the pressure of God's fingers still 
Upon it, leaving it, maybe, less smooth 
Than other souls, can only give us truth; 
Maybe in fragments, yet often in unbroken 
Crystals." 

"Yes, that is why so many souls 
Great in simplicity and truth with power 
To shew their great thoughts to the world mine out 
From the wide dark the same bright thoughts, al- 
though 
The miners may be centuries apart 
And neither knew the other mined. Then one 
Must smile to see the yard stick man who does 
The critic in some tart review, point out 
With his small measure of himself, and give 
The genuine critic howl, 'a plagiarist,' 
As though those voices from the infinite. 
So vaguely understood, those glittering 
Fragments of great truths that drop at night 
From far-off starry depths of blue, or float 
On sunset tides from shores of white and gold 
Come not to all deep souls, from grand Sophocles 
Down to the Englishman who wears to-day 
So gracefully his Laureate crown." * 
*'One can but think," replied Valoria, 
"How strange that in their grand march down the 

world 
God's men and women walk so much alone." 
"Yes," said her friend, "the priest walks in advance. 
We find in every good that men work out 

♦Tennyson. 

57 



The individual is the power. The crowd 
You note develops quick the brute in man. 
A hot word here and there and a great mass 
Of men will glow at furnace heat, men who 
Have mothers and hear children's prayers, will tear 
And bellow like wild beasts of prey. What we 
Call culture never can drive from its old 
Abode the brute in man. It chains him down. 
Encircles him with walls, turns the strong lock, 
And there he lies with nose on earth, but let 
Some scent of blood, some sound from unforgotten 
Jungle where his mates are free, some muttered echo 
Of ungoverned thought, but penetrate his cage; 
At once the body answers to the power 
Within, the sense of brute power rises to its height, 
And then — God help the man who thinks he holds 
The key. No human power can tame the brute. 
But once there walked the lanes of Nazareth 
A Christ who dwelt among the simple folk. 
And blessed their homes, talked with tired women, 

dropping words 
Of balm on their bruised lives, held a child's hand 
While waiting for a mending net, or on 
The sea slept in the boat until His friends 
The fishermen had need of Him; and so 
Healed and made sacred all their simple lives. 
He walked alone; in that I often think 
The world's reformers shadow the Great Type. 
The rush and glitter of the world went on. 
And Roman scorn and Jewish hate could find 
Naught but the scourge, the crown of thorns, the 

cross. 
And yet His power has overthrown the kingdom set 
Upon the seven imperial hills of Rome, 
Scattered the Jewish tribes, and holds the keys 
Of life and death to all the waiting world. 

S8 



It is His power alone can drive the brute 
Forever from the heart of man. 

And so 
We give to men and women who after Him 
Save the world, the tempest of our scorn. We hack 
Their lives, forgetting that there never was 
A strong, pure, loving worker in the world 
Whose own heart did not hold unmeasured spaces 
For the sympathy of his kind. We let 
The hungry spaces echo to the call; 
Meanwhile with steadfast face and eyes. 
That see God's own grand meaning in the work 
He does, the world's reformers go their way alone ; 
But when by aid of light which they have left 
The world has slowly studied up to them, 
We lay our books open at the page 
Where they left off, and clap our hands, and hang 
Fresh garlands over long-forgotten graves. 
And search the marble quarries of the world 
To find a background for their names." 

Meanwhile 
They talked so earnestly they had climbed height 
On height, now pausing to admire deep vales 
Below, and then to lift their eyes to where 
White mountain tops pierced the metallic blue. 
Wendal would sometimes take her hand to aid 
Her in ascent or steady her upon 
A height, and once he stood across a path 
She wished to climb, and said so quietly 
Betvv^een his other talk, "You will not go 
Here, Miss Mooer." 

They found their dinner waiting 
In a cave, an old resort of Wendal's, but 
Unknown to Valoria until her guide 
Had ushered her within its cool, gray depths. 
To find a feast prepared, as Wendal said, 

59 



By mountain gods. When they had dined with gay 
Pretence of being, now Swiss peasants, then 
Pilgrims to some far-off sacred shrine, they 
Still pursued their wanderings up and down, 
And came at length upon a curious spot 
Where a bluff mountain ended suddenly 
Beside a lake, with just a footpath left 
Upon the shore. Valoria sprang forward 
And exclaimed, 

"Now this is old Thermopylae, 
And I am a Greek and will not let you pass." 
Catching her merry mood, he stood grasping 
With martial dignity his alpine stock 
As though it were a sword, and said, 

"Fair Greek, 
Although you stand alone as Greeks before 
The world, although before your gleaming blades 
Xerxes' Immortals have been put to flight, 
And Persia learns the name of Marathon, 
Yet know that I will win the pass or die, 
And I will win, with weapons never yet 
Turned back, all the unconquered province that 
May lie beyond. For what to me is all 
That lies this side of thee, fair Greek?" he added in 
A softer tone with glowing eye. "And know 
That I too am a Greek, and I will win." 
Then springing nimble-footed as a roe 
Upon the rock that leveled with her head. 
He stooped and with his strong arms pinioned both 
Of hers, and lifting her as though she were 
A child, he placed her on the rock, then took 
The pass, and called, "Surrender." 

"Surrender?" 
Cried Valoria with well-affected scorn, 
"Surrender, to a Greek, and from a Greek! 
It is plain you have traveled far and have 

60 



Learned foreign words, for though I have journeyed 
to 

The farthest stretch of our blue Isles, that word 

I never heard. I never heard an Infant 

Lisp it or an old man mutter it In 

His querulous talk. In all the land of Greece! 

The soft seductive airs that come up from 

The lawless sea to seek acquaintance with 

Our mountain winds, ne'er whisper that." 

But still 
He held her hands and kept his steady eyes 
Upon her face whose color came and went. 
And called again, ''Surrender." 

"But I am a Greek." 
"And so am L" 

While they had played Thermopylae, 
The clouds had hastily gathered Into force. 
And now came rushing down the mountain sides 
With dark and threatening front, and thunder burst 
With vivid lightning and large drops of rain. 
Valoria felt the shadow and looked up. 
The very hills, to her unused to Alpine 
Storms, seemed to be tumbling on their heads. 
Wendal had often met before such bursts 
Of Nature's passion in his Alpine tours, 
And watched with zest their play and fury bursts; 
But this frail girl whom he had led so far 
Upon the hills, how should he shelter her 
From Nature's rage? He caught her quickly from 
The rock, as a blue sheet of lightning veiled 
Her form and said, 

"Valoria" (it was 
The first time he had called her name) , "I wish 
This jeweled day had held no harm for you." 
Then there arose a new strength in her heart; 
A strong faith in a human presence held 

6i 



Her firm — the faith that means so much in women. 
She said with quiet trustfulness, 

"Do as 
You would if you were out alone." 

"Not quite," 
He answered, smiling, "for probably I would 
Not seek shelter, but that you must have; we 
Are two good English miles from the hotel. 
But there is a chalet not far down will give 
You a Swiss welcome." 

The way was short but rough, 
And the rain poured in floods ; but only once 
She paused and hid her face when the blue lightning 
Flashed so near it veiled her eyes, and once he 

snatched 
Her close within his arms as a tall tree 
In lightning blaze flew past them in its fiery course ; 
And when he let her loose there was no color 
On his lip or cheek. They found a friendly shelter 
At the chalet, with a woman and two girls, 
Who brought Valeria their holiday 
Attire while they should dry her dripping robes. 
And unloosened the braids of her dark hair to 
Dry about her waist, and piled high the fire 
Upon the ample hearth. But still the rain 
Poured down, and the thick clouds hung o'er them 

like 
A pall, but brought no gloom; the fire that blazed 
Upon the hearth gave not more warmth and light 
Than that which glowed within her heart. A soft 
Light rose within her eyes, and her sweet face 
Broke often into smiles without apparent cause. 
And a voice sounding through ear and heart spoke 

sweet 
And low her name. She never knew before 
What new earth music might lie in a name. 

62 



She lay upon a couch to rest and seemed 

To feel his strong clasp as he held her when 

The pine tree fell so near, and heard again 

Two words, two quick impulsive words he uttered 

As he held her there, and as she thought of them 

A rosy smile that started from her lips 

Spread in glad ripples o'er her glowing face. 

She smiled, but could not sleep, although she had 

Been left alone and bid to sleep. Let those 

Seek sleep within whose heart the ashes are long 

dead 
And undisturbed save by the cold white finger 
Of a buried past that will not rest but rises 
From its grave, and rakes among the ashes for 
Some hope of flame, and those who wander in 
The valleys always, who never tread the hills 
Or kiss the clouds. Bring sleep to those whose lives 
Are withered bud, and fruit, and flower, but seek 
Not now to still the song bird in thy heart, 
Valoria. Wait until coming years shall press 
So heavily on thy waking hours, thou shalt 
Thank God for the dumb oblivion of sleep. 

But the rain ceased, the clouds rolled down, and 

soon 
The clear ringing mountain air, leagued with new 
Sunshine, ruled again. They lingered yet beside 
The chalet fire to wait the lessening of 
The streams that ran in the fierce pride 
Of sudden power after the rain; and though 
Wendal had often sat quiet amid 
The general talk of the hotel, yet now 
He flashed keen sparkling words, that scattered 

gems 
Of thought as clear and well defined as crystals 
Fresh from the bosom of a mine, across 

63 



The hearth stone of the chalet fire. The girl 
Sat listening with her earnest face half shaded 
By the ripples of loosened hair, leaned on 
Her hand — a hand that poise itself which way 
It would was certain of an attitude 
Of grace. 

What is it whispers to the soul, 
When all serene she sits and gazes at 
The glowing face of some new joy that comes 
To meet her on her way with hand outstretched 
And sweet intelligence within its eyes, 
"It is the last"? Whatever sadly missioned 
Thing it is, it must have whispered then, for 
Valoria's bright face seemed to enter 
Suddenly a shadow as they rose to go. 
She looked back lingeringly at the fire 
Dying upon the hearth and said, "I wish 
That one could always live upon the hills 
And eat in mountain caves and rest in chalets." 
Then, blushing, added, "I mean that all our friends 

And all " "I understand/' Wendal broke in 

l5o quietly that her blushes faded. "You wish 

That life were on the hills, breathing ever 

Their elastic air above all discords, all 

Low aims and petty motives, above all 

The doubtful essences that mix in cities 

Or where men are thickest, that make the mock 

Elixir of our lives; far above all 

Artificial wants to take at morning each 

Day's gifts fresh from God's hand and give them 

back 
To him to keep for us at night, while His 
Dear hand shall touch our eyelids with the seal 
Of sleep." 

"Do you not think," she asked, "that we 
Are nearer God upon the hills ?" 

64 



"Yes," said , 
He earnestly, "and nearer each other; thank 
Him for that." 

Below them, hidden here and there 
By jutting peaks, and shrined in loveliness, 
Was stretched the vale of Lauterbrunn, while hills 
On hills lifted their cold proud heads above 
Great clouds that hung upon their bosoms. Sudden 
Deep abysses gave a fierce grand welcome 
To the torrents' fall. Within the old brown 
Chalet, perched upon the mountain's sides, were 
Gathered all the elements that make life's 
Joy or woe. Grandeur held tight the dainty 
Hand of beauty in his clasp, and often 
Touched her gentle forehead with a kiss. 
The twilight shades were gathering when they 

reached 
The inn ; the spell of silence was upon 
Their lips; their souls were bathing in that full 
Tide calm that words disturb but never may 
Express; but as they paused a moment on 
The balcony, Valoria said with her 
Good night, "I thank you, Mr. Wendal, for 
This day; I never shall forget it, it 
Has been so full of pleasure," and added 
With a tinge of sadness in her voice, lifting 
Her eyes to a high peak where they had stood 
That day, that was now silvered by the moon, 
"This is our last day on the hills; you know 
We leave to-morrow." 

He took her ungloved hand. 
And, holding it between both his own, said, 
"God grant us many days upon the hills." 
He added, as a moonbeam crossed her face, 
"Promise that you will rest at once when you 
Go in." Then he held her hand a moment to 

6s 



His lips and said, "Good night, Valoria.'* 
"Good night," she said again. 

Wendal stood for 
A moment gazing at the spot that she 
Had quitted. Meanwhile a picture of Valoria 
Mooer as she had stood upon the balcony, 
Her mantle falling from her arm while white 
Moonbeams held the light against her sweetest 
Face and played among the shadows of her hair. 
Was photographed by love's strong light on heart 
And brain. Let him mark it well! for in long 
Coming years, in deserts and in crowds, he 
Will strive with wearily closed lids to bring 
It back again. 

Then he went in to join 
A club friend, Howeth, just up a week from Paris, 
Who met him with, "So, Wendal, you are en- 
slaved?" 
"Enslaved, enslaved! No, that is not the word; 
I have stepped where Dante stood with her he loved 
Upon the highest arc within the circle of 
The zodiac, and I could stand with her 
Safe gathered in my arms, and see all earth 
Removed without a sigh, sure that where she 
Was, heaven was not far off." 

"The Lady Mooer 
Is in the circle too, I fancy, by 
The deepening color on her cheek and quick 
Averted eye whene'er I spoke of you. 
I tried the effect of your name on her more 
Than once. Jove! it was charming, just coming as 
I have, from faces where all feeling, like a child 
Unruly, is locked upstairs or in dark 
Basement, and not once allowed to come within 
The drawing room or glance out the front windows 
Till the guests are gone. But I tell you, sir, 

66 



You have something there to curb and tame. I saw 
Her flash defiance from her eyes and lips, 
The other day, at some old piece of humbug 
Long crusted by the sacred touch of time^ 
Before a patient group of worshippers 
Of conservatisms. Her father sat among 
Them too." 

''The scorn of petty plot or trick 
I cannot admire too much in her whole nature; 
Its perfect truthfulness shines like a diamond 
Hilt that holds a gleaming blade, and if she needs 
A steady rein, you know I always wanted 
Things to tame. When I was a boy I have 
Often worked for weeks and never once gave up 
To make a timid wild hare come and eat 
From out my hand; and as I older grew, 
A horse that would throw any other rider 
Was my pride. Excessive tameness in most 
Any thing is wearisome to me. I know 
It is much prized in women; but I have 
Not cared for your tame, neat cream-candy type 
Of girls; they make most excellent vinegar 
After a slight exposure to the sun ; 
You do not catch one of them looking back 
With clear, intelligent, responsive eyes 
Like some grand creature, when she feels the rein. 
They neither can command or mould life as 
Full toned women who understand the whole 
Run of the gamut, and know all the stops — 
When to draw them out and when to close. They 
Understand the beauty of deep bass or 
Finest semibreve, and by their perfect 
Knowledge draw the stops and teach the keys to 
Make most self-forgetful harmony out 
Of life's roughest passages, while the sweet 
Girl, who thrums forever on her c and e 

67 



And knows no more; when c and e are out 

Of tune, must sit quite dumb and helpless. 

Here is a woman strong in character, 

Harmonious in thought, amenable 

To reason and to right, and if at times 

She wants a firm hand on the silken rein, 

What grander realm could the very king of men 

Aspire to make his own?" 

"He who does it 
Surely is a king/' replied his friend. 

"He 
Must understand/' continued Wendal, "well 
That grand completeness which God meant when 

He 
Thought out a woman ; and so surround the weaker, 
Sweeter life with stronger love that holds control. 
Not for mere brute will's sake, but that the broader 
Life like our home garden walls might shield from 
Harm our lily and our rose of life." 
"I wish you joy, dear friend, and if your rare 
Blush rose should prove a difficult one to 
Fasten on a wall, its wondrous fragrance 
Will repay the care." 

"Some choice instruments, 
You know, exposed to any winds give out 
No discord. But let us go; there is a view 
Below I want to show you, where the river 
Gathers up her silver robes and makes a plunge 
To unknown depths below." 

SONG 

Blow, summer winds from Orient Isles ! 
Through summer days prolong 
Your incense breathing choruses 
In fullest tide of song. 

68 



Bloom, summer flowers, In summer fields! 
Empty each perfumed cup 
Upon the bosom of the winds, 
Let glad hearts drink it up. 

Gleam, Eastern skies, with rosy light! 
Flash out your golden beams 
Across the zenith to where dips 
The Western Isle of dreams. 

Shine bright upon us, stars of night. 
From azure fields afar! 
Build up to heaven a shining track, 
And set the gates ajar. 



69 



BOOK SECOND 

AT HOME 

The Wye danced brighter in the morning sun, 

And sang its songs in lower notes at night, 

All nature seemed aglow with newer life. 

And offered sweeter incense at the gates 

That spread afar their gold and crimson bars, 

Glad to receive the waning light, while night 

Let fall the noiseless draperies of her robe 

On wood and vale and flower. Valoria's 

Face seemed lighted by the rosy reflex 

Of a smile within that wandered to her eyes 

And led them far away among green hills ; 

And often, too, her feet would climb some height. 

And she would sit and dream and dream of gladness 

That the sight of hills brought to her heart. O 

dream 
Of life! drenched in dawn's rosy lights must you 
Fade to gray daylight at the serpent's touch? 
O golden cup of life's elixir! where 
Is gathered all the perfume and the essence 
Of this life of ours, must you fall and break 
And mingle with the clay, staining in your fall. 
Maybe, some garment that can not be worn 
Again, but laid away with broken pieces 
Of the golden cup. 

Days wore to weeks. A look 
Hinting surprise grew up within the hazel 
Depths of her sweet eyes, for linked with Wendal's 
Farewell words came the request that he might 

write. 
"And after that," he had said, *'I hope to see 
You in your home in Wales." But yet no tidings 
came; 

70 



Her heart had learned to flash its tumult to 
Her changing cheek, like some shy bird that shows 
Its nest by flying, when the postman knocked. 
Weeks spread themselves to months ; the months told 

round 
A year; and yet no word — no sign. She was 
So young, her heart unused to the sharp touch 
Of pain. She sat alone with fixed sad eyes. 
The life gone out from all the life around; 
But ever living over that white day 
Upon the Hills. Alas! for us who hold 
Such possibilities of joy shut close 
Within or barred without, that we should starve 
For years upon the memory of a day ! 

Then there came a letter from a cousin 
Of her mother's house — a pleasant running 
Comment upon men and things in the great 
London world — who said, after much careless 
Gossip, that he had long been promising 
Himself a trip to Wales; he longed to make 
Acquaintance with his relatives, the more 
As he had heard Valoria had quite 
Surpassed in loveliness the most rare promise 
Of her nursery days. He would be there at once 
But that he was detained to help fulfil 
A promise made a friend that he should be 
His second at his marriage. This friend, 
One Leo Wendal, he, of all men, would 
Not disoblige. They had been closest friends 
In college and in club. Their names, in fact, 
Rang into one; there was, indeed, a vague 
Chance that the marriage might not occur; 
Wendal had more than once been on the eve 
Of such a step but for some cause, he could 
Not say just what, there had been a rupture 

71 



Always when one most expected orange 
Blossoms and white gloves. He loved his friend 

so much, 
And it was so very foreign from his nature 
To suspect, that he still held faith in him, though 
Of course he was the last to justify 
A thing like broken faith — especially 
With a woman. Such things were done he knew; 
Indeed faith could be broken without a word, 
As it could be pledged, but never would he 
Think so badly of his friend. No! he would 
Scorn the very thought; but had his cousin 
Mooer in intercourse with men, ever observed 
That often glaring weaknesses (he would 
Call them by no name more harsh) were grafted 
In with genius? But all this was doubtless 
Quite uninteresting to his cousin Mooer. 
He had been led to mentioning his friend 
Because through him his longed for visit might 
Meet some delay; but until they should meet 
Would his dear friends in Wales think of him as 
Their loving relative, 

Hugh Waterford. 
He followed soon upon his letter — a keen 
Eyed gentleman, supple of limb, and free 
Of tongue, with soft bland words rounded in periods 
Grateful to the ear, and full of graceful 
Gallantries, with swift attention to all 
Ladies' wants in bringing a forgotten fan 
Or dropped bouquet, or chasing worsted balls 
In carpet flight. The gaping, haunted cavern 
Of Valoria's life, with so much lost 
Where all had been, received the sounds of life 
This man brought gratefully. Its dreary ghosts 
Sometimes would send a chill of horror through 
Her veins. Her life had been so full of blessing, 

72 



Rounding in such graceful harmony with God*s 

world ; 
And she had climbed with such glad feet upon 
The Hills, and there had met the presence whose 
Strong life had thrilled across her own, drawing 
From it such music as the gods were glad to hear. 
Her king had crowned her on the heights ; they had 
Descended to the plains, and then — and then — 
Drowning men catch at straws, and so a heart, 
Groping in utter darkness round and round 
The fatal spot where fate's black hand has snatched 
Its joy away, may often catch some bit 
Of colored glass and ask itself in sheer 
Despair, "Can I close my eyes and make it seem 
The diamond that I lost?" 

When this cousin heard 
From Mr. Mooer that they had met his friend 
Upon the Hills, he met it with surprise 
And said, "Indeed! how strange he never told 
Me. I shall challenge him when I return 
For such neglect of my fair cousin here. 
Wendal, too! so much a connoisseur in 
Ladies' charms." 

"Pray," said Valoria, "let him go unscathed — 
We have no wish to cross his path again; 
And as for you, I bind you to the peace 
About his name; I beg you will not let 
Us hear it once again." 

Then her white fingers 
Flashed along the sounding keys in clashing 
Music of swift sounds. Her voice, too, gave its full 
Rich tones to battle songs and ringing choruses, 
Grand old marches, songs of victory, not 
Low winding notes that by their silver links 
Join some far thought upon the edge of life 
As she had used to draw from minor keys 

73 



When one had listened to her on the Hills. 
When but a week had passed it grew to seem 
Hugh Waterford pervaded all things. He 
Knew all the boundaries of Mooer's lands and 

guessed 
With shrewdness at their valuation, made 
Himself at home among the tenants, dropped 
Small silver bits to children, chatted long 
And laughed most affably with all, and when 
He went away there seemed a void. Before 
He went he asked his cousins Mooer for their 
Consent to win Valoria's hand; should he 
Gain such consent, and should he win, his life 
Would be only too short to testify 
His obligation and make known his love. 
The mother quickly gave consent. "A man 
They knew so well, one of her own, the heir 
Of sound estates, no chances of deception here." 
The father's eyes grew troubled and he spoke 
Not for a time. At length he answered him, 
"I draw no rein upon my daughter's heart, 
But know that she may safely follow where 
It leads." 

When to Valoria he made 
His suit for love, she answered, with her eyes 
Fixed on some distant hills, "I like you, cousin, 
But like is very far from love. Love dwells 
Upon the Hills among its gods, while like 
Walks down beside the valley streams." 

He said, 
*'I am content to be a valley stream 
If only you will walk beside. It is said 
That heights are cold, and I know well that there 
The archers strike with surest aim. There are 
Many wounded ones upon the Hills. Is my 
Sweet cousin strong enough to face the flying 

74 



Arrows and December blasts? Let the vale shield 
Her with its arms and heart." 

She answered, while 
The distance in her eyes seemed to have reached 
Some unseen height, "Let me walk up and down 
The valleys for a time and see if I 
May draw love down from its high place to dwell 
With me. But mind, I give you yet no lover's 
right.^' 

A month in London, then again to Wales. 
Meanwhile he wrote and mentioned that his friend, 
Whose name was contraband by her whose wish 
To him should after this be law, had missed 
Him sadly and had tendered him his most 
Sincere congratulations, when he had 
Confided to his trust the one most cherished 
Secret of his heart and hope in life. He had 
Just left for Abyssinia, having a taste 
For travel in outlandish lands, and said 
"He hoped he should be gone for years." 

Hugh Waterford again took up his home, 

And spread his presence in the daily life 

Of her whose love he sought to win, while Mooer 

Kept close to his books. Valoria walked 

And rode with him, and often by his side 

Would float in her light skiff and dip an oar 

In the bright waters. Sometimes she paused upon 

Her oar to think of how the light fell on 

Geneva's lake, and how her king looked as 

His steady oar sent bursting pearls along 

The deep blue wave. Then a look, such as a bird 

That sees its hope alone in flight might cast 

From gilded cage, grew in her eyes while Waterford 

Would chatter his small talk, from which all life 

75 



Seemed to have dropped, ceaselessly on. He failed 

To bring the freshness that he brought before, 

But went his paces nimbly over, told 

The same old stories, made the same remarks 

In the same places, showed a son's interest 

In Mooer's lands and bank accounts. It was hard 

For her to hear all this and then recall 

The infinite variety of that other mind. 

That like a many octaved key-board under 

The fingers of a skilled organist, 

Gave quick responses to the farthest touch. 

Yet to Valoria he brought all that 

His nature knew of love; she was his shrine. 

He worshipped her while she sat patiently 

And took the offerings that he brought, and praised 

Their beauty with far wandering eyes. But her 

Soul starved; she had no shrine for worship; she 

Looked down to him. Had he been strong even 

With roughness, she had learned to lift her eyes; 

But this smooth, neat, round atom of a man — 

How could she worship any good in him? 

She longed for love to lift her to such heights 

That all ignoble things should be forgot. 

To draw her to its heart as the great sun 

Draws dew. She thought of Wendal always on 

The Hills, but here there were no heights to climb, 

Only long flats of barren sand. Meanwhile 

Her father watched her with a saddened eye; 

His heart misgave him that she could not do 

The things she strove with such strong will to do. 

It hurt him like a new edge in his heart 

To think that the bright iris braid that spanned 

Her young brow on the Hills should be toned down 

To sombre tints, and that she, too, must wear 

The neutral colors on her breast to counterfeit 

The blood red sign of love. 

76 



What curse is on us in this lower sphere? 

Is it the old one yet? or is a new 

One bred for each new joy that lifts its head 

Above the rim of earth, and strives to lay 

It on a human breast? O God! we lift 

Up helpless hands to Thee and ask Thee why? 

While those who question not but take all things 

For granted as they come, shake pious heads 

At us and tell us to put down our hands: 

Thou knowest there are times that we need aid 

Of holy ones to hold back cursings. 

One day Mooer sat alone, lost in a dream 

Of bitter-sweets. Valoria came to him 

And, kneeling on the hassock at his feet, 

Put her clasped hands upon his knees. He saw 

At once that the caged bird was gone from out 

Her eyes; the old, clear light reigned once again 

Within their hazel depths. 

With a quick glance 
Of her old playfulness, she said^ "Your child 
Has come to claim congratulations; she 
This day has overthrown a house builded 
On sand, cast down an image and unloosed 
A claim that bound her, every link oi which 
Was made of brass and eating like a canker 
At her heart." 

Then added with more earnestness, 
"My father, you have known how eagerly 
I tried to build my house with uncut stones 
And urged by pride to fill the gaping void 
Of life with the wan semblance of a real love, 
And how I tried, hoping I might deceive 
Myself, to call each stranded hope I laid 
For my foundation stones^ a thing of new 
Sprung life and beauty. God forgive me that 
I builded such a thing, meaning to call 

77 



It by a sacred name. Then my white image 

That I made the center of my system, 

I went and kneeled before it day by day 

In worship form, crowning it with my fairest, 

Choicest flowers, and called it Love. Its whiteness 

Chilled me, and I painted it with Love's red 

Hue, but my coloring was bad, it would 

Not take the shade. Then when I felt the chain 

Of half pledged love binding my shuddering soul 

I knew I was a fool, or worse, so to 

Insult my God by acting such a lie. 

Was I so weak that I must stoop for strength 

To such a weak thing as Hugh Waterford? 

And is my ear so lost to sense of sound 

That I must call his little jangling on 

The keys the music of my life?" 

"And yet, 
He loves you, daughter." 

"Yes, as he renders love. 
But wounds soon heal on such a soul." 

"Are you 
Sure you do him no injustice in your 
Quick judgment of his heights and depths?" 

"Yes, I 
Have measured well his shallow soul — it were 
Most easily done. I might have done it standing 
On the brink without the trouble of once 
Stepping in, and saved the wetting of my 
Shoes' soles. As to heights, he does not even 
Comprehend an altitude. I feel that I 
Have let unworthy guests come in and fill 
The holy places of my soul. Father, 
You know what touched me on the Hill ; it drew 
Me up to blessed heights until I kissed 
The clouds and almost laid my hand in God's, 
And felt the farthest ofE infinity 

78 



Of space grow warm with loving. I cannot 
But think God gave me that, and meant it for 
My own; and if some evil thing has come 
Between my heart and its blessed light, I will 
Accept God's love in meaning it for me. 
And, despite my cousin's words, I hold him pure ; 
I feel his soul is now, and always has 
Been, and will be forever, true to truth. 
I will be brave enough to live without 
Love, but I will not light a rush and call 
It noonday sun. I blame women who will stoop 
To say, *I cannot understand, I love.* 
But I must quite despise a man who writes 
His name along with such an infant's creed: 
And he — he knows no more of all that makes 
My highest joy or deepest pain than night 
Of noon. It were not well to spoil God's other 
Gifts by setting in their midst an alien; 
God gives us love through His great perfectness 
In all things. Through all beauty we may read 
His broad name Love. Then if one source is dimmed 
It were a sin to close my eyes and say 
There is no Love ? Life has many blessings ; 
Let us be sure we miss none in counting. 
I gave our cousin audience in the arbor house 
And let him understand beyond a doubt 
His claim on me was void in life as well 
As law. He leaves to-morrow : then we will 
Go back — go back," she added, clasping her 
White hands around his neck, "And if there should 
Be something lost, my truest friend, why, we 
Will consecrate the void and make it pure 
From all that may defile or make a lie." 

Joy seems a prisoner that loves to find 
Its way back to the home it lost so long, 

79 



So long ago among the sons of men, 

And evermore it sits within its cage 

Whose iron door is held fast closed against 

The world's starved heart held by the same strong 

hand 
That forged the curse. How eagerly it springs, 
When not too closely watched, to touch a human 
Heart, and light up weary faces, call back 
Wandering eyes or touch with its elixir 
Fainting lips! God knows humanity needs 
Its warm touch. Joy seemed to have unloosed its 
Prison door, and dropped upon Valoria's life 
A distant smile. 

She sat again before her easel, long 
Forgot, and there grew beneath the skilful 
Touches of her artist hand the picture 
Of a chalet fire; each bit of homely 
Furniture, each trophy of the chase, that 
Held a place within the Switzer's hut, came 
Out upon her canvas. Then a girl sat 
By the chalet fire, in Swiss costume. You 
Could not see her face, it was so shaded by 
The upraised white hand; but her attitude, 
Even to the ripples of loosened hair, 
Was one of wrapt attention. The crowning 
Touches of her art seemed to have been held 
To give strength, dignity and grace to her 
Companion, who sat throned in perfect type 
Of manhood, and who seemed so really 
Talking, that one felt at once to listen. 

Deep grew the sweet depths of her hazel eyes. 
And bright the rose tint on her soft white cheek. 
Shed from Art's altar fires that blazed up high 
And broad, its own white heat made crimson by 

80 



The touches of the rosy fingered god 
Who thrust his subtile wand among the flames 
So frequently that the fair artist's face 
Was often all aglow. 

The picture finished, 
An untouched bit of canvas took its place, 
And upon that grew near and distant Alps, 
The topmost silver-crested by the moon; 
And where the shadows fell there seemed to lie 
A measureless abyss of shade. The moon's 
Light glinted shower-like on a balcony 
Where two figures stood, the girl in shadow, 
But the man — the same who sat by the bright 
Chalet fire — seemed to absorb the light, he stood 
So clear with shadow all around him. 
It might be that she felt herself again 
Upon the Hills, beside the chalet fire, 
Drinking in music from that sweet old tune 
That never will grow old, but falls as sweet 
And new on human ears to-day as when 
In the first garden, long ago, God's voice 
Dropped soft and low to crown all other gifts^ 
The silver notes among the sunset airs 
Of Paradise, which Adam quickly found 
And set to sweet, low, earth words, thereby drawing 
Lovely Eve from the glad wonder of new 
Life, listening with parted, pearl-tipped lips 
And cheeks like the shell's heart that lies within 
The bosom of the passionate sea, rose 
Glowing from its center, with new earth light 
Breaking through the starry splendor of her 
Heavenly eyes; for she seemed to bring back 
To her life the clear-eyed joyousness one 
Finds in places near to love and God. 



8i 



SONG 

Where the soft shadows fall, 
Where the wind's voices call 
Softly and low, 

Mother earth cover me, 
Daisies grow over me. 
Bury me low. 

Far from the sound of strife, 
From the rude voice of life, 
Bury me deep. 

Where the soft summer rain 
Soothes all my weary pain, 
There let me sleep. 

Wild are earth's hopes and vain; 
Even Love touches pain; 
Bury me low. 

Mother earth cover me. 
Daisies grow over me, 
Bury me low. 



82 



BOOK THIRD 

Will evil triumph or will good prevail? 

And v^hat avails the struggle with the wrong? 

Is human life floating up from the shore 

Of the great silence that enwrapped the world's 

First consciousness (though long before God's voice 

Had echoed through the Dawn, leaving 

His words to crystallize in suns and stars) — 

Is this life, so floating from the Infinite, 

A thing to take with joy? Or is it but 

A mode of punishment for spirits who 

Have sinned in some dark long-ago? From what 

Shore over what waste of waters do we come, 

Lost children, far from home, who cannot tell 

Aught of their fatherland, but only know 

(By the sharp stirring of deep hidden chords 

At sight of perfectness of beauty meeting 

Eye or ear) that home was beautiful, but 

So far away! and that the faintest tread 

Of angel feet echoing down through the stars 

Brings to the soul a sense of pain and loss, 

Till "loss" becomes the watchword of the race! 

God help from his security of joy 

Those souls who cannot see the gain beyond 

The loss, the love beyond the pain; and hasten 

On the golden time when they shall see 

The gain of loss. 

LONDON 

Mooer, for the sake of her he loved so well, 
His own young life blooming beneath his eye 
With beauty daily growing more intense, 
And he feared, frailer, took up life again 
In London, hoping the change and glitter 

83 



Of the world's gay heart might effectually 
Efface all traces of the shadow from 
Her heart and life. How wise our parents grow! 
Did he forget a little box within 
A corner of a house in Wales, that held 
A girl's glove and a broken ring, with some 
Small fragment of a rose's heart? 
Did he forget the song, that, even yet 
In some June days when the low summer winds 
Were borne across the dry sands of dead years, 
Would come to him, that sad, sweet, nameless song, 
Bringing the memory of the mad, lost dream of 
youth ? 

LETTER TO LEO WENDAL 

"Safe in the Happy Valley are you, friend 
Of mine, and watching daily round the walls 
If maybe you can find an opening through 
Your bliss whereby you may escape? Well, I 
Wish you all success, and hope you will strike 
A London trail. Since you have gone, I've lived 
Quite hermit-like, eschewed society. 
And snubbed the world. A month ago I heard 
A murmurous flutter of approving sounds 
And stepped out to see. A note from Lady 
Huntley (who is my cousin and a favorite. 
You know) baited with, *I have got the sweetest, 
Newest, loveliest star to shine within 

My rooms to-night, so do not fail to come * 

Brought me out, as I then thought "for one night 

Only." Who should be presented, lifting 

Her fair face like the queen of flowers, above 

A shimmering sea of pearl-like draperies, 

But Valoria Mooer — the same and yet 

So changed I scarce can tell you how. Her beauty 

84 



Flashes in the London lights with a power 

And brilliancy we never dreamed of when 

We all kept holiday among the Hills. 

I say^ we, when I should say, I. How do 

I know how far your dream went? Her eyes, those 

Clear-orbed hazel, wear a look sometimes that 

Strikes me like the cry of some lone bird lost 

In the night and storm. I find it only 

Comes in moments when the sentinel is 

Off his guard. I saw it come one day as she 

Turned from a picture rest that held a view 

Of Lauterbrunnen, but the rare brave mouth 

Did never once betray or swerve from its 

Sweet steadfastness; and that live color that I 

Used to call up with the mention of one 

Name, now keeps its place as calmly as some 

Painted dowager's. Wendal, to you I write 

Without a mask. You gave me once your manly 

Confidence, and I know that for you she bore 

In her white hand the olive branch that told 

Of the subsiding waters in your strong 

Unrestful soul, ^vexing itself while others 

Sat and smoked, with dropping line and plummet 

In unanswering depths; and if I ever saw 

A woman whom love touched newly like a glad 

Surprise, I saw her in Valoria Mooer. 

We are bought and sold in this world's mart, 

And sell our royal birthright for a mess 

Of pottage that turns out the merest stew. 

That when one finds a real diamond 

Among the paste, he is as glad as was 

The one of old who found the Pearl of Price. 

The question haunts me. What has come between 

The light of your two souls, that should now be 

Shedding on each other their soft splendor? 

I shall confess my thoughts turn quite direct 

85 



To that man Waterford, who aped you all 
Through Oxford, and then wormed himself Into 
Your confidence by claiming cousinship 
With your friends the Mooers. You can testify 
I never liked him, and felt always that 
There was the puppy in him, though he would 
Bristle up and bark in vicious big-dog style. 
This cousinship seems doubtful, for he does not 
Come within her circle here, but lingers round 
The outer edge with hungry eyes that make 
Me wish the good old privilege known as 
"Doubling up" to our brave sires had not gone out 
Among gentlemen. Mooer treats him not too 
Cordially. I have watched them closely, thinking 
Of the words you said that night when you disturbed 
My peace by saying that you left London 
For the Happy Valley by to-morrow's train, 
And when I spoke her name you said so coolly, 
*0, our friend. Miss Mooer, she marries Water- 
ford—' 
And then, 'good-night,' so quickly that I thought 
I dreamed. Now take a friend's advice and hasten 
Home. I can but think you have been victims 
Of some wrong. There are quite an host of suitors 
At her shrine, but not one of them can bring 
The wordless music to her face that I 
Have seen there when a certain friend of mine 
Would step or speak suddenly at her side. 
Come back, O friend! and try again your power — 
Flash out the music from her lovely face. 
I warn you if you do not I will try 
The scales myself. It is now said that "Howeth's 
The favored man." I think I am not quite 
Mistaken in the thought that when she hears 
My voice she listens to another that 
She first heard mine with. It is unflattering, 

86 



But truth compels me to admit she does 
Look past my eyes, although I am not quite 
So fragile as to be mistaken for a ghost. 
And yet I have failed to tempt her by my 
Most artful talk to ask a question that 
Might touch your name ; although I saw her bend 
An hour above a book and never turn 
A page one night when two of our old club 
Discussed you not far off. 

You know our friend 
Sawstones, the logical, with his three-storied head 
Well stored with facts, who wrote three books to 

prove 
That "A was A" in refutation of 
The heresies of Bick when he affirmed 
That from a given point "A was not A 
Alone but also B." Would you believe 
That he has trundled all his facts and fossils 
To her shrine and vowed that if she would but 
Come to him that he would henceforth set her, 
At least even with his ologies within 
The highest chamber of his head and heart! 
He would keep his vow, too, piously as 
Men keep the wish of their dead wives, that they 
Should marry and not mourn for them. You know 
We never thought him conscious of another sex 
Before; it is quite a new phase in which 
To study up the human, if it were 
Not too sacred to make notes, to see what 
Tremor of bewilderment the touches 
Of her robe will bring upon the settled 
Statement of his face. 

Now, Wendal, I have 
Given you warning fair. There are other 
Champions entering the lists^ so should 
You care to lift her glove and break a lance, 

87 



Then show your knightly spurs upon the field 
At once. The world will gather in three months 
To the great heart of England, there to see 
Its sights and show its shows. Valoria 
Stays until the coming wave rebounds. Her 
Father lingers more, I fancy, for her 
Sake than for his own. 

Hoping to meet you soon, 



Howeth." 



SYDENHAM 



The great world gathered for its interchange 
Of sight and sound of sixty-one. It was 
A thing to mark a life: standing within 
The nave to hear the grand orchestra pour 
A nation's wail for the true prince who had 
Laid at her hushed feet the early broken 
"White flower of a blameless life." Meanwhile his 
Work lived after him and rose a fitting 
Monument, grand, high, and broad, and, like his life, 
Transparent, not hung round with cumbrous cur- 
tains 
Ready to be drawn at given signal 
Of a finger on the lip, but lifting 
Up its many crystals to the sun, flashed 
Back for every ray a thousand 
Patterns of the king of day. God be thanked 
Whenever on the world falls the sweet incense 
Of a good man's life! 

The wave of song had died 
Away among the courts while men stood silent 
With uncovered heads, and women wept at thought 
Of the lone Lady on the throne whose star 
Of life had set so soon. Valoria's 

88 



Thoughts were with the dead ; twice her father spoke 
Her name before she found the fitting words 
To answer greetings from a gentleman, 
Who said, 

"I have been most anxious we should meet. 
Miss Mooer. I wished to say how much I am 
Your debtor for two pictures from your hand — 
Gems, I assure you, and not I alone — 
Your mother has not written, then ? Oh ! she 
Said perhaps she would reserve it for a great 
Surprise." 

Then he told how a month ago. 
Being in Wales, he called upon his old 
Friend Mooer, was grieved to find that he was 

absent. 
But felt repaid at sight of two rare works 
Of art — Miss Mooer 's last paintings — ^which 
Her mother showed. As he was on the list 
Of judges for that department of the world's 
Great Fair, he urged his claims at once, which Mrs. 

Mooer 
Had with great kindness listened to, and loaned 
Them for the time. He had himself attended 
To their hanging in most favourable lights: 
If Mr. Mooer and his fair friend would come 
Now, he would be most happy to conduct 
Them where they hung. 

Valoria's heart stood still. 
That those two pictures painted as they were 
From colors drawn, like the fine spider's web. 
From her own being, should hang in mid-day blaze 
Before the idle gaze of half a world! 
Her lips refused to speak. Her father begged 
Excuse, another time, his daughter was 
Not well, had been deeply moved by the grand 
Tribute to our buried Prince; and bore her clinging 

89 



Like a dead weight to his arm, away from sight 
And sound. Alone within her room, the storm 
Broke over her; the far oif sea-line showed 
Its white-caps to the lowering sky, while waves, 
Starting from ripples in the distant years. 
Broke in broad columns at her shuddering feet. 
God help us in our helpless days of storm! 
When by the quick electric stab within 
The heart we know from just what wreck the 

wave-worn 
Fragment tossed upon the shore has come. This 

love! 
Alone at midnight she had dug its grave 
And pressed the mould upon it with her foot 
Of pride; had raised no monument, planted 
No rose, not even placed a little cross 
To say *'Resurgam," when she passed that way. 
But to-day she knew it lived, had glided out 
Its grave e'er the sun glinted on the mould, 
And followed her with noiseless footsteps through 
The aching years, stealing the rose's bloom. 
The sweet heart music from the winds and waves, 
And all the light of beauty from her life. 
Now, pacing up and down her room, she pressed 
Her white hands on her eyes as though to hide 
The thought that her most sacred heart of hearts 
Hung in broad light for all the world to read. 
After the storm was spent she gathered some 
Degree of comfort from the thought that there 
Was only one, and he, she hoped, was safe 
In Abyssinia, whose eye, seeing 
Her work, could read her heart; so after all 
The world would only see the painted mount 
And torrents' fall, with a traveler standing 
By a peasant girl. 

After three dreary days 

90 



She took her place again among the crowd, 
More frail but lifting lily-wise her queenly 
Beauty white and rare. One day when half the 

world 
Had wearied of its sights and shows and had 
Turned homeward, Valeria, wandering through 
The thinning ranks alone, had paused to gaze 
Upon a painting near her own. She felt 
A sudden tremor through her frame, such as 
We sometimes feel when the electric wave 
From some other life reaches across the circle 
Of our own, and a soft girlish voice cried, 

"Leo, 
There is a picture here so like you that 
You must have sat for it in some of your 
Aerial flights." 

Then a gay girlish form 
Half followed and half led along a man 
In whom in spite of bronzed and bearded face 
She recognized her guide among the Hills. 
Pointing to the picture of A Chalet Fire, 
The maiden said, "Cousin, behold your duplicate." 
His eyes followed half carelessly the painting 
Of her hand; then the life rushed up above 
The bronze and beard and broke in hurried ripples 
Over cheek and brow. 

"Who painted that ? Howeth! Howeth!" 
Catching his friend who came along just then 
And pointing with his steady gaze, "There is 
But one in all the world who could have painted 

that." 
"Ah, very like; 'tis a rare piece of art; 
I have heard it much admired, but I wish 
To show your cousin here something quite rare 
In statuary, so with your leave I take 
Her now. Do me a favor, will you? See 

91 



That lady moving toward the door? Follow 
Her quick and give her this from me." 

Then, Howeth 
Thrust a letter in his hand and, bowing, 
Led the lady bird away. By the time 
Valoria reached the door she had grown calm ; 
So when the step she knew so well paused at 
Her side, and they two stood again gazing, 
Each on the other's face, across the edges 
Of the yawning years, she was the first to speak 
The fitting words which friends use when they 

meet, 
Having been only friends. Wendal stood like 
A courtier who has been so long in duty 
On the field that when he found himself again 
In the bright presence of his queen forgot 
His courtliness. But there are souls who spring 
So quickly to each other's level, leaping 
All boundaries of time, estrangement, pride 
And almost hate, let them but meet, they rush, 
Electrify and mingle, quick as light 
And air, besides, one glance full in her hazel 
Eyes which looked but simple truth, yet neither 
Asked nor gave, wrought its old charm in spite of 

doubts 
And aching fears ; and when she smiled adieu, 
Holding the letter in the hand he had 
Just touched, his heart was keeping holiday 
Upon the Heaven-kissed Hills. 
"Now, Wendal, stay me with flagons of your 
Choicest wine, and comfort me with odors 
Of the East, while I recount my last achievement 
On the legal turf," said Howeth, entering his 

friend's 
Room when the night had come. "Thank you, two 

chairs 

92 



Will do. A week ago, coming from court 

One day with all my legal energies 

On tip-toe, mouth and eyes agape, I chanced 

On Waterford. Thinking of some things that 

I wished to know, I linked my arm in his, 

And led him to my rooms. Never turned opening 

Bloom to meet the sun as his confiding 

Heart opened to me. A glass or two of my 

Best Burgundy loosed every hinge, and flung 

Wide open all the charmed recesses, where 

It is supposed his inner nature hides. 

It was hard work to hold the glass and smile 

When one so longed to aim it at his head, 

But I restrained my rage, led him along 

By certain names, until within the narrow 

Chamber of his soul I pounced on a vile truth. 

Know then : that when three years ago you put 

A letter in his care on plea of cousinship. 

He never sent it, kept it till he might 

With his own eyes be sure if all were true 

He heard of his fair cousin's loveliness — 

He also gave attention to her father's 

Interest at the banks." 

"What! never sent it? Then 
She never knew, Valoria! Let me 
Go, I'll hound him to her feet, force him 
To swear his perfidy before her eyes. 
Oh, my heart! to think of all those aching years 
Breathing their separating breath between 
Us since that last look in her eyes upon 
The Hills, — sweet eyes, that looked for me, looked 

all 
Along the coming days for me, who never 
Came or made a sign. I did distrust that man. 
And when the silence grew so long, I went 
To Wales myself, drew niear enough to see 

93 



Her sitting in a garden seat, and see 
Him bending over her arranging roses 
In her hair. Then I believed the story that 
He v^^rote me telling of their love, also 
Believed the message came from her which he 
Passed on, that she could only think of me 
As a friend. Howeth, v^hy has the devil's 
Hand such pov^^er to trump our surest cards? But 
I must go to her now." 

"Listen a moment 
Longer — she knows all now; you placed within 
Her hand to-day the letter that you wrote 
Three years ago ; and that I wrung from our 
Friend Waterford. After I gained so much 
By wine, I filled his timid soul with fears. 
It was a work of time, but still not very 
Difficult in his muddled state, insisted 
Also on a written statement from him 
Of his own perfidy also sent to her. 
So now, my boy, go in and win; as for 
Old brimstone Jack, we'll trump him with our 
Queen." 

Fair acres, varying wood and vale and lea, 
And winding silver links of low-voiced streams, 
Lay round a mansion where a lady moved 
With graceful step through brightly furnished rooms. 
Her white hand touching now and then a vase 
Of flowers, or statuette or drooping shade 
Of window drapery to more harmony. 
Now she looks from the windows or from oflE 
The balcony, lifts her eyes as though to catch 
Some coming one, and then she reads again 
A letter she has held all day, which says: 
"To-day I bring her, mother, bring my wife 
To-day, whom you will love for her. sake as 

94 



I 



For mine. How strange that she should bear your 

name, 
Valoria; your buried name, you called 
It once. I hope the grave wherein it rests 
Is not so dark that it will cast a shade 
Upon your daughter's name; it is so sweet 
To me. To-night, dear mother, she shall put 
Her hands in yours to be your child, her heart 
In yours to fill the place a daughter has 
Not filled before. 

In hope and love, yours, 

Leo." 

This lady, let us look at her and watch 
Her as she moves amid the halls and rooms. 
Those who had seen her cross the threshold as 
A bride said that the blood had never seemed 
To touch her face, and that for years before 
Her early widowhood, she had ever been 
A woman with great depths of patient eyes, 
Who never told the story of her wedding 
Day to girls. Now from the balcony she lifts 
Her eyes, which look as though great fires had 

burned 
Themselves to ashes there, to the bright woods 
Where Nature's funeral fires were burning on 
The hills and dying in the vales; then let 
Them fall upon the waters gliding past 
Her feet, whispering so softly to the leaf 
Whose flushed cheek lay upon its breast, whispering 
Maybe such comfort to the dying leaf 
As we to our beloved, that there will be 
A resurrection, and that it may be 
In the blessed time after the snow pall shall 
Be gathered up, the selfsame leaf may hang 
Again over the same clear stream, where it 

95 



Will be sure to find its image still held in 
Its heart. Did the lone lady think of that 
Glad coming time, or did her thoughts stay with 
The dying leaf burning its heart away? 
As a sad spirit speaks to its familiar, thus 
The lady speaks: — 

"We sit beside a loom; 
Fate fills the shuttle while we weave and weave; 
We have no choice of shade, and often wearying 
Of the darkening web, we cry for 'rose and gold.' 
Fate's lips are dumb, her eyes cast down, she does 
Not heed our earnest cry, till some dark day, 
When we have ceased to cry for rose and gold, 
She drops by us a shuttle filled with each. 
We seize it eagerly, and weave it through. 
But still no form, no comeliness! Our eyes 
May not look on the right side of the web. 
We hold the empty shuttle in our hands 
But search in vain for bloom of rose or leaf 
Of gold. It must be in bright bloom upon 
The other side; for only here and there 
A golden thread that shows no form is thrown 
Upon the wrong side of this web of life, 
To hold for some bright spanning on the right. 
Oh, God! if the lone weaver could but see 
The right side of the web, his weary face 
Might then not grow so pale, nor all the light 
Fade out of his sad eyes, nor his hands grow 
Thin, forget their cunning as he drops his 
Shuttle and falls beneath the loom, crying, 
Just as men say, 'he dies,' 'I see the right 
Side of the web.' Oh, weavers! it is hard 
To sit alone all day and weave and weave, 
To die and leave the web to be unrolled 
By other hands; when one will cut out here 
A breadth, just where we lost our rose, to soften 

96 



Window light, and another choose a cloth 
Of emerald and gold to spread upon 
A couch, while all applaud the taste of him 
Who furnishes, and marvel at the rare 
Wrought beauty of design." 

A sound of wheels, 
Tramping below of feet upon the stairs. 
And a clear, ringing, manly voice calling 
Her "mother," brought the light upon her face, 
The love within her eyes; and when Wendal 
Said, "Mother^ I bring my wife to you to set 
Beside me in your heart," the lady took 
Her daughter in her arms, then laid her hands 
Upon her glowing cheeks, and kissed her eyes 
And lips. The life rushed up and struggled with 
The death upon her face, conquered, then took 
Its old place on her cheek again while her 
Voice said, — 

''Oh, my Evangel! come to make 
Me sure God's love is not forgetting, though 
He seems to live so far away, and that 
The right side of the web of life unrolled 
Is perfect in design and wonderful 
In all completeness of broad purposes. 
Valoria! the name I buried with 
My girlish dreams. Valoria! my rose 
Of life sprung from its grave to bloom and bud 
About our house. Valoria! the past 
Gives back its dead." 

When the moon was high that night and everything 
Was silent in and out the house, Valoria 
Entered the lady's room and placed within 
Her hands a small and curious ivory box, 
A bit of Venice carved upon its lid, 

97 



And said with her good night, 

"When my father 
Bade his child farewell, he said, 'Valoria, 
If ever one should look into your eyes 
In search of mine, and kiss their lids down when 
She finds them, give her this.' " 






98 



ALUMNiE POEM 

(Read at the organization of the Alumna Associa- 
tion of Acadia Seminary, Wolfville, N, S., 
June I St J i8g2,) 

Ring out, June bells, upon the breeze, 
Floating the colors that we love, 
In loyal greetings from above 
The glory of the summer trees! 

Bells of Acadia, strong and clear 
Ring out your country's meed of praise 
To those w^ho, through the w^idening days, 
Weave the vv^hite web of knowledge here! 

The varied threads the ages span, 

On busy spindles of the brain, 

Are readjusted, till again 

The loom shows forth the better plan. 

Oh, busy spindles of the past! 
Oh, whirring wheels forever still! 
Dead spinners! who once sent the thrill 
Through laden shuttles flying fast 

Along your warp threads in the looms, 
Long crumbled in forgotten dust; 
The hinges of your doors are rust 
That closed upon your spinning rooms! 

Yet many a golden thread ye span. 
And many a new design is wrought 
On patterns which the weavers sought 
To fashion for the use of man. 

99 



Updrifting from the changing sea 
The past into the present brings 
The echoes of the song that rings 
O'er the wide earth by low and lea, 

Of the rare maid Evangeline, 
Whose simple truth shall ever stand 
The loadstar of Acadia's land, — 
Though ripening ages roll between 

The far-off day, when, looking back 
From crowded deck of alien ship 
With breaking heart and pallid lip. 
The roof-trees' blaze illumed her track. 

A happier lot is ours to-day. 
Peace spreads her banner o'er the land; 
May queen and country ever stand 
The sacred names for which we pray. 

Greetings! from those who, looking back, 
Feel from afar the summer thrills. 
Spent glories on the morning hills, 
Grown distant in their lengthened track. 

Greetings of heart and hand to this 
June garden of Canadian girls! 
If loving thought might gather pearls 
Our rhymes would ne'er a jewel miss. 



We hold among the precious things 
Outgrowing from the heaven above, 
There's nothing worthier of love 
Or care from us than girlhood brings. 



lOO 



With its sweet faith in coming good, 
Its fearless eye and ready hand, 
Its locks agleam with golden sand. 
God bless Canadian maidenhood! 

When the wide margins of the soul 
Are taking form and color on. 
When men are heroes true and strong, 
And right knows never wrong's control; 

When purple summits, glory-crowned! 
Await the pressure of their feet. 
When all things true and gracious meet 
Upon the hills that stretch around. 

For white ranks forming year by year 
The spaces in your country wait. 
Your truth shall help to make her great 
And fill her homes with happy cheer. 

Be sure no higher mission calls, 
Although the laurel and the bays 
Are held aloft in open ways. 
Than ministry within home walls, — 

To touch w^th bright artistic grace 
The common lot and daily way, 
To be the eye and ear and stay. 
Of those who falter in the race. 

For highest culture never should 
Disturb from its appointed sphere. 
From the creation, showing clear 
God's gracious plan of womanhood, — 



lOI 



The womanhood that trims the lamp 
Whose opal light shall ever gleam, 
Athwart the memory in dream; 
Of home, on ocean or in camp, — 

The womanhood that up and down 
The wards where wounded soldiers lay 
Walked while by her small lamp's clear ray 
The bruised hands moved to touch her 
gown. 

The womanhood that held the hands 
Of the Christ-child upon her lip, — 
The womanhood that saw the drip 
Of His life blood upon the sands. 

The air is filled with boding sounds; 
Right struggles in the coming stress. 
While Reason in an alien dress 
Gives the pale Christ again his wounds. 

Truth is of God; it claimeth not 
To stand on any earthly base; 
Wars rage, ambition shows its face 
In places by the dollar bought. 

Yet myriad stars cry out to thee, 
The spreading sea this message rings. 
From the high hills of God there swings 
Truth's pendulum untouched and free! 

The right will triumph ; let us then 
Work on the side yet sure to win. 
And waste no hours with soft-lipped sin, 
However sweet the tongue or pen; 

102 



Environed by whatever v^^rong, 

Hold fast the soul's integrity, 

The inner sanctuary's key, 

Though loud the clamor of the throng. 

Now let us each clasp woman's hands 
Around Acadia's maiden life. 
That glows to-day with promise, rife 
In future good to many lands. 

With earnestness as woman should 
Before the heat hath dried the dew, 
Ring out the frivolous and untrue ! 
Ring in the nobler womanhood! 



103 



ENGLAND LISTENS 

What are the sounds that I hear. 
Gathering strength as they come, 

Earnest and deep as a prayer, 
Strong as a cheer for home? 

The voices of children afar 
Calling from over the sea, 

Be still, O babble of w^ar. 

Till I hear vihat they say unto me. 

It is coming by steam and wheel, 
It is coming by wave and wind. 

It is flashing under the keel, 

And this is the message it brings: 



VOICES OF THE COLONIES 

Oh, mighty mother, take our sons 

To stand with thine aroqnd the throne. 

The pulses of thy Kingdom beat 

Strong in our hearts as in thine own. 

Thy cause is ours, our leader thou. 

To follow, asking no retreat. 
Shall we stand idle, while the stress 

Of battle presses at thy feet? 

Far from the Mayflower Land, 

Far from the heather. 
Thistle and Maple Leaf 

Stand they together. 

104 



I 



Right In the teeth of hell 

Shoulder to shoulder, 
Red Rose and Shamrock press ! 

Which is the bolder? 

Now the palm shows its plume, 

By the Australian, 
Watch while he closes in, 

This is no alien. 

These are strong sons who stand 

Guarding the portal 
Of the old mother land. 

Crown them immortal. 

Love by their graves shall weep 

Forgetting never. 
Light on their graves shall fall 

Ever and ever. 



105 



SONG 

Life gives us better than it takes away. 
In brighter hope and broader, fuller day. 

There is no past, but all things move and blend 
In sure fulfilment of a promised end. 

We leave the misty capes and vales we trod 
For the glad sunshine on the Hills of God. 

To slow, grand measure up the aisle of years 
Move truths enfranchised from long bonds and 
tears. 

Hands that groped darkly for the truth of things 
Hold the clear signet of the King of Kings. 

Broad waves, that tossed in fierce white passion 

heat. 
Fall into psalm and kiss the resting feet. 



io6 



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